A Reason For Me
by Prynesque
Summary: 1x2 AU - On his last night in Chicago, Heero meets a young man with violet eyes and a braid. Instantly drawn to him, Heero initiates a meeting but things aren't often that simple.
1. Part One: Chapter One

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: I was meandering along on my way to Uni when this little plotbunny came hurtling out of the bushes and began gnawing at my socks. Some weeks later, that plotbunny is getting considerably irritating so I've decided it's time I did something about it. And this is the result. It's my first Gundam Wing fic, so please be gentle. The title comes from a song by Hoobastank called "The Reason". I'm not even entirely sure it's all that appropriate but it's what I'm listening to at the moment so it'll have to do.**

**Oh yeah, and please review. Don't make me have to do the puppy-dog eye thing.**

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Part One – Chapter One

Heero:

I'm standing on the balcony of my hotel suite, looking out over the darkening Chicago skyline. The streetlights are just beginning to flicker on across the city, bathing it in a soft incandescent orange glow.

Behind me, in the hotel room, I can just make out the low rumble of voices as Quatre and Wufei chat amiably about their respective days. I feel no particular urge to join them.

The wind starts to pick up and my hair, unruly at the best of times, dances in the swirling breeze. I try, in vain, to push the persistent dark locks out of my eyes but eventually I give up and let them fall across my face as I lean forwards and rest my arms on the cold steel rail of the balcony.

A cool gust of wind washes over me, a trail of goose bumps left in its wake on my bare arms. I suppress a shiver and, in spite of the clear chill in the air, I don't move; I refuse to let myself be controlled by something as trifling as the weather or by my own body's reactions.

I cast my eyes over the unfamiliar city-scape and suddenly a sharp, disorientating sense, which I assume is home-sickness, assaults me. My hands grip the cold metal of the balcony rail as an unsettling pressure grips my heart. I hate this lack of control. I force my breath to even again and I close my eyes to block out the dazzling vista of night-time Chicago.

I've only been in Chicago for two days and I'll be leaving tomorrow evening, I tell myself. This time tomorrow I'll be back in New York.

The pressure on my heart eases and the panic passes replaced by an almost wistful longing for the city that has become my home.

I almost chuckle out loud at that thought, but I rarely laugh at all and tonight doesn't seem the moment to break from tradition.

It's strange to find myself thinking of New York so fondly. It doesn't seem all that long ago that I first arrived there and, overcome by the almost claustrophobic hustle and bustle, found myself wishing I was back in Boston suburbia.

I had arrived in New York for orientation week at NYU and immediately I felt lost, swallowed up in the black hole that was this foreign, overwhelming city.

New York is such a lively, sociable, exciting city and, if anything, I'm the complete antithesis of those qualities.

If I hadn't been so work-orientated and driven, with my sights set firmly on graduating NYU with the very best they could offer in Computer Engineering, I rather fancy I would have turned tail and left on that very first day. At the time, that was a very unsettling and disturbing thought; I wasn't used to feeling nervous or afraid about anything.

Salvation had come in the form of a short blonde. The very same short blonde who was currently in the other room entertaining Wufei with stories of the seminar he had just arrived back from.

When I arrived at the University almost two years ago for the first day of orientation, the quadrangle had been a buzz of activity, laughter and excitement. People kept staring at me and I could tell immediately what they saw when they looked my way. A handsome but cold and forbidding Japanese student; a mystery that they were just itching to solve. Several of them worked up the courage to talk to me but I turned on my best "Death Glare", as Quatre calls it, and they scuttled away, much to my relief.

After that they avoided me like the plague and I comfortably resigned myself to the familiar role of anti-social outcast; it was a role that served me well during high school and I had had every intention of continuing it until I spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

The wealthy, and therefore instantly popular, Quatre Raberba Winner had been surrounded by a large crowd of simpering wannabes. He had this bright smile on his face, but when I looked closer I fancied I saw a hint of something akin to nervousness and discomfort lingering behind those blue-green eyes. I watched him as he tried to untangle himself from his mass of followers and, for what was probably the first time in my life, I felt a sense of pity and a desire to help him.

Quatre had chosen that moment to look up. Our eyes met, mine deep blue and stony as usual, and Quatre's lighter orbs tinged with confusion and then recognition.

He politely but firmly extricated himself from the crowd and approached me. Of course I turned away immediately and tried to lose myself in the mass of people.

"Heero Yuy?" the soft but strangely confident voice asked.

I tensed reflexively. What can I say? I'm just no good with people and that tends to make me defensive… but I turned back anyway and nodded a confirmation.

"I'm Quatre Raberba Winner." I already knew who he was and I'm sure he knew that too, but I nodded as he extended his hand. "We were at high school in Boston together, weren't we?"

I remember eying the hand warily as though it might bite me but when I looked up, I caught this little look of hope on Quatre's face and before I knew what I was doing, I was shaking his hand.

"We were," I said after a few moments, rather belatedly answering his question. "Grafton Academy," I then confirmed unnecessarily. I don't babble when I'm nervous, probably only because I hardly talk at all, but I do tend to say rather pointless things.

Grafton Academy was the most prestigious and elite school in Boston; the only place the rich and famous of the area would ever consider sending their children to for their $25,000 a year education.

I can still remember every last detail of that first meeting, down to the colour of my shoelaces (brown) and the number of buttons on Quatre's shirt (7). And yes, I do realise that I'm observant to the point of being neurotic.

Quatre hadn't changed much over the summer. He was exactly as I remembered him in High school. In fact, now that I think about it, he's still pretty much the same today. Still short, still blonde, still with that aura of gentle, kind innocence. What I know now is that while he looks gentle and soft and innocent on the outside, underneath Quatre is clever, determined, resourceful, steadfastly loyal and, at times, completely ruthless. Despite his continued protests that he is not fit to take over his father's company in the future, Quatre is a hardened businessman and I have no doubt that once he graduates, Winner Enterprises will only go from strength to strength.

We hadn't been friends in high school. In fact, we'd had barely known each other. He knew of me; most people did, although mainly so they could avoid me. And of course, I knew who he was. It was impossible not to. The heir to one of the biggest, most successful companies in the world was instantly recognisable in the school corridors in spite of the other rich and important students that also frequented those halls.

Quatre had been part of the beautiful, popular group, immediately approached for his reputation but befriended for his kind, generous nature. And although I come from a similarly prominent family, from day one I was a confirmed outcast; even the nerds who were as fascinated and obsessed by computers and technology as I was, avoided eye-contact with me at all times.

But I liked it that way, which is why I was so surprised that not only had Quatre approached me on Orientation Day but that I had welcomed it.

I'm still not entirely sure why though; it was, after all, completely out of character for a habitual loner such as myself.

After we had established that we had in fact gone to the same high school, I fully expected that to be the end of it, that Quatre would smile and turn away and return to the beautiful popular people who could not only construct a sentence but actually say it aloud as well (it was always that second bit that I had trouble with).

But he didn't. Instead, he smiled and kept talking. "I didn't expect to see you here. I had heard rumours consisting of your name and MIT… but I'm very glad to find a familiar face." And, in spite of all my self-taught independence and hostility, I couldn't help but feel the same.

"I did think about MIT," I confessed. The fact that I was willingly participating in the conversation took us both by surprise, I think. "But I ended up here." I didn't elaborate but Quatre seemed to catch my meaning anyway.

"I know what you mean. I've been down for Harvard since birth, I think. And yet here I am as well. I think I just wanted to do something different and unexpected. Silly, I know."

"No," I shook my head, seriously. "Not silly at all."

And I meant it. I had picked NYU because I was tired of mechanically plodding through my life. When I had turned out to be rather gifted with computers, my father had immediately assumed that MIT was in my future, and childish as it may seem, I took intense pleasure from the look on his face when I chose NYU instead.

And that was the moment. Right then. Until that day I had never met anyone who seemed to understand what I was trying to say without me actually having to say it. And suddenly the prospect of facing this new city didn't seem so hard or so unappealing.

From the look on Quatre's face, he had reached a similar conclusion. He blushed a delightful shade of pink. He still does that and it still makes me smile.

"Well, this is all rather boring and unnecessary, isn't it?" Quatre had observed, looking around at the networking that seemed to be taking place around us. "I don't suppose you fancy having coffee with me?"

I was caught off-guard by his request. The idea that someone would voluntarily want to spend time with me was completely foreign but I found myself agreeing in spite of myself.

After that day, a strange relationship formed between us. When classes started and Quatre befriended his fellow Business Studies majors, I expected our uneasy companionship to fade and disappear, but Quatre persistently continued his attempts at friendship and eventually I caved under the consistent pressure.

Convenient acquaintance evolved into a fast friendship, to the point where now I simply can't imagine my life with Quatre in it.

I still have flashes of doubt and I continually wonder what Quatre manages to glean from my, at times, unresponsive and anti-social friendship. I'm not good at expressing my feelings so I will probably never say this aloud, especially to him, but I was, am and probably will always be eternally grateful for Quatre's steady friendship.

An unexpected gust of wind blusters around me, drawing me out of my memories. Behind me, Quatre's gentle laugh rings out and I turn slightly to glance through the lace curtains into the room beyond.

Quatre is sitting on the sofa, his legs crossed, and an amused look on his face. Opposite, pacing restlessly, Wufei is ranting passionately about something, completely unaware of the amusement his audience is drawing from his performance.

I smile. While Quatre was my first, and perhaps, best friend, over the past couple of years I've discovered that I appreciate Wufei's friendship and company equally as much.

Wufei joined our little group rather by accident. He and I were and still are roommates at college but for the first two months we lived together, we spoke barely more than two words to each other.

Neither of us seemed particularly interested in pursuing a friendship. Wufei saw me as a cold, unresponsive computer freak (and was probably quite correct in his thinking), and I thought that he was an honour-obsessed, overly fervent, judgemental lawyer-in-the-making (to be perfectly honest, I still sometimes think that, although I would never say it to his face – I value my limbs too much). And although it'll most likely make me sound like the haughty snob I probably am, I was also rather miffed that I had failed to receive a single room like Quatre had.

We tolerated the other's presence quite happily but made no overtures of anything more than that, despite the none-to-subtle prodding I received from Quatre.

We'd been living together for the better part of the first term, I think, before our relationship changed.

I had made plans to meet Quatre for dinner but just as I was about to leave, he called to say that he'd been held up with work and couldn't make it.

I was surprisingly disappointed by this news; I still wasn't used to needing the company of other people. I remember sighing rather heavily and Wufei looking up at me, slightly baffled.

I had resigned myself to a night of working as well but Wufei had evidently picked up on my disappointment and so when he got up to leave for dinner himself, he casually suggested that I join him.

This caught me completely by surprise and I instinctively refused. Wufei had visibly bristled when his offer was rejected and I immediately felt a pang of regret and hastily reconsidered.

The first half of dinner was awkward and almost oppressively silent. I'm not much of a talker at the best of times, but I had grown used to Quatre's cheerful chatter and could usually be persuaded to make some sort of concession towards conversation.

However, dinner with Wufei was uncomfortably different. We had both made the effort to move our relationship to the next level but were uncertain where to go from there. Eventually, just as the silence was getting unbearable, I remembered the jujitsu trophy that Wufei proudly displays on his desk and so I cleared my throat and asked him about it.

I'll never forget the look on his face… surprise, interest and complete and utter relief. And then suddenly we were in the middle of a conversation… a conversation that lasted through dinner and well after we returned to our room. We talked about martial arts and about being Asian-American and what we were studying and a lot of other things that for the life of me, I can't remember now.

To be fair, generally it was Wufei who did most of the talking while I just made short, concise statements now and again like I usually do, but it was probably the most I'd ever talked in my entire life up until that point.

And it was a phenomenon that seemed to continue. I became more communicative and perhaps even a little friendlier. I wasn't what I'd call talkative because frankly I doubt I'll ever be that, but Quatre noticed immediately and the next time he and I made plans for lunch, he told me to invite Wufei as well.

And suddenly this trio was born. Wufei and Quatre hit it off immediately and we found some sort of balance between the three of us. Nearly two years later, we remain a close-knit group.

Of course, Quatre has a circle of friends from his Business Studies classes and Wufei has befriended a collection of like-minded law scholars, and even I have managed to forge some sort of amity with my fellow Computer Science students, but in spite of these external friendships, the three of us have maintained the steady companionship with each other that saw us through the first half of our degrees, and no doubt, will see us safely through the second half as well.

So, of course, a few weeks ago when Quatre arrived at our dorm room and announced that he would be going to Chicago for a few days for a seminar and would appreciate some company, Wufei and I had immediately agreed.

And now, on the last night of our stay in the Windy City, I find myself on the balcony, trying to fight off the encroaching chill in the air. Sometimes I get the feeling that I must have been a masochist in a former life. Everything the hard way, that's me. Or perhaps I'm just stubborn.

Either way, it's really getting cold out here, so now that I can finally no longer resist the shivers that seem determined to overcome me, I turn on my heel and stride back into the room.

The warmth and light hits me instantaneously and I heave a sign of relief and appreciation. Call me crazy, but it's actually worth getting painfully chilled just to soak up the wonderful sensation of coming inside again.

Quatre and Wufei break from their conversation as I enter, looking up at me questioningly.

"We were just discussing where to go for dinner. Are you hungry?" Quatre asks.

I nod and the other two lapse back into their exchange. Evidently, I've walked in on a rather inane argument. Wufei is declaring that he has found a wonderful little restaurant that serves proper Chinese food (as opposed to the stylised, wishy-washy version the Americans like to call Chinese) while Quatre is maintaining that we always have Chinese and it was about time Wufei broadened his horizons and got a little more cosmopolitan in his thinking. A couple of 'dishonourable cur's later and I've had enough.

"There is a nice-looking Italian restaurant a few blocks over. We shall have dinner there," I say firmly, the tone of my voice leaving no room for contention. Wufei and Quatre wisely choose to silently agree.

Half an hour later, after Wufei has changed his shirt for the third time, he and I are waiting in the hotel lobby while Quatre runs back upstairs to fetch his forgotten wallet.

It's a nice hotel. Perhaps not as flash as where Quatre might normally have stayed, but I'm glad of the simplicity and I suspect Quatre knew I'd feel that way when he booked the rooms.

As far as I'm concerned, all a hotel room needs is a comfortable bed and a place to plug in my laptop… and actually, the bed is debatable.

Quatre arrives, slightly breathless, and with a cheerful wave to the doorman he follows us out into the street.

The wind has picked up in the brief half hour since I ventured in from the balcony, and I shrug reflexively back into my jacket, wrapping it tighter around my lean body.

We cross the road and walk down a few blocks in companionable silence. In spite of Quatre's protests, we cut through a series of darkened alleys, Wufei maintaining that he knows a shortcut.

Several blocks later, we find ourselves on a gloomy backstreet. A fair few of the streetlamps have blown and those that are still lit cast a sickly pale yellow light on the smoky street.

To the right, in the distance, I can see a sleazy red flashing neon sign professing Club X to have the hottest strippers in town.

To the left, I can just make out various shifting figures lurking in the distant shadows and can hear the sounds of stilettos clicking on the dirty sidewalk.

Quatre frowns ever so slightly while Wufei clicks his tongue in disapproval. I simply stuff my hands roughly into the pockets of my jeans and nod slightly to the right. "We can cut through that alley, there. It should take us back onto a main road," I say, sparing Wufei the withering look that he probably deserves for suggesting the shortcut in the first place. I rather fancy that Wufei is blushing, but it's hard to tell in the dim light.

I step off the curb and cross the road, hearing the shuffling footsteps of my friends behind me. I pause at the entrance to the alley, standing back to let Quatre and Wufei pass first. As Wufei steps past me, I glance back up the road to where that neon sign is still flashing its message.

Suddenly a figure steps out of a hidden doorway, illuminated by the streetlight overhead, and I find myself staring at the most incredible pair of eyes I've ever seen. They are big and bright and the colour is almost indescribable, the most inexplicable shade of blue, almost violet.

A long braid of hair hangs down over one shoulder and for a split second, I have difficulty telling whether this vision is male or female. The hair, the short shorts, the fishnet stockings, the high heeled boots at first glance suggest feminine allure, but the set of the lips and jaw, the stance and the shape of the stranger's figure are all distinctly male.

All of a sudden, it's like I've been sucker-punched; all the air in my lungs suddenly evaporates and I'm vaguely aware that my mouth is incredibly dry and hanging open gormlessly.

For one brief moment, it feels like the owner of those amazing eyes is staring right back at me. The tiniest flicker of hope ignites inside me until I realise that the stranger is staring past me to the shadowy figures of the working girls beyond.

My stomach sinks inexplicably and I swallow heavily. The stranger casts one last look down the street. He doesn't see me. He turns away and moves off in the opposite direction. The sound of his boots echoes around the still street and he flicks his braid back over his shoulder so it hang suggestively, swinging backwards and forth across his arse.

Suddenly my heart is racing and I find myself thinking that if I could be that braid of hair just for one minute, my life would be worth living.

Just as he disappears into the distant shadows, I become aware of a foot tapping impatiently on the concrete and I snap back around to where Wufei's dark eyes are staring through me.

I shake my head slightly trying to clear it, and nod Wufei onwards. "Come on, I'm hungry," I say gruffly, pushing past my friend and onwards down the alley.

I can feel two sets of eyes on my back and I can almost picture the looks of confusion and curiosity on their faces, but I ignore it.

When we emerge out onto the busy street beyond, I recognise our position immediately and curtly lead the other two away to our destination.

The restaurant is delightfully quaint. A jolly, round Italian welcomes us at the door and ushers us across the busy dining room to a cosy little table in the corner.

Quatre is clearly delighted by the cheerful café and even Wufei seems rather pleased, though he hides it masterfully well behind a look of resigned acceptance.

The dinner is lovely. Quatre entertains us with anecdotes about his unusually large family (not for the first time, I find myself thinking that 30 sisters is, perhaps, a little excessive), and then Wufei relates the events of his day and the highlights of Chicago that he has seen.

Just as I finish my last mouthful of pasta and lay down my knife and fork, Quatre turns to me and asks how I passed the day, though his eyes tell me that the real question is 'did you leave your room?'.

"I went to the park and then the Institute of Art," I say shortly. Both my companions seem rather surprised though Quatre remembers, just in time, to hide his shock behind his napkin. Because I can't bear to destroy the pleased look on Quatre's face, I conveniently forget to mention that I spent barely ten minutes in the park and little more than an hour at the gallery before returning to my hotel room and the refuge of my computer.

Dessert arrives and Quatre and Wufei start bickering over who should pay for dinner. This usually happens at this time of the meal. Quatre insists that he wants to treat us while Wufei claims that he is honour-bound to pay his own way. Quatre always wins so I'm not sure why Wufei persists in complaining. I think he just enjoys the argument.

While they finish their ritual, I eat my gelato and let my mind wander. Before I can stop it, suddenly I'm thinking about those eyes again. They won't leave me alone. They linger in my memory, persistently asking me a question that I don't want to hear and that I don't know the answer to.

I find myself wondering who he is and why he was there. I scoff at myself mentally. In those clothes, on that darkened back street, it's perfectly clear who he is and why he was there, but deep inside me, in the place where my emotions stem from (a place I generally like to pretend doesn't exist) there is a tiny niggling feeling that says there is more to him than that.

And suddenly I come to the conclusion that I have to find out what it is. It takes all my self-control not to bolt out of the restaurant at that very moment and race back to the street in the hope that he might still be there.

It's a very strange feeling. One that I don't think I've ever felt before. Is it attraction? I'm not entirely sure. I've never really been attracted to anybody. Sure, I can look at a man or a woman and recognise them as being aesthetically pleasing but it's never been anything more than that. I've never felt that feeling that Quatre describes when he meets someone he likes.

And if this strange feeling is attraction, I don't think I have a problem with the fact that he's male. I've never given my sexuality much thought, probably because I've never really been attracted to anyone.

When I masturbate, which of course I do because I'm male and that's just what we do, usually it's just about me and how I can get off as expediently as possible. And if there is another person involved in whatever fantasy my limited imagination has managed to conjure, they are a nameless, faceless, sexless individual. I suddenly find myself thinking that this is perhaps a very sad way to be living my life.

So, the fact that this possible attraction to this man could mean that I am gay or at least bisexual doesn't bother me. Although I'm not entirely sure what two men are supposed to do together so a considerable amount of research will have to be done before I even think about acting on whatever this feeling is.

And I realise that that is what's tearing me up. Not that I might be attracted to someone or that I might be gay, but that I don't know. I'm not an emotional person. I hate talking about my feelings, but even more than that, I hate not being able to understand them.

I'm going to have to find that man again if only so I can work out what my feelings are and then how to deal with them.

As soon as I reach this conclusion I realise it's hopeless. I have less than 24 hours left before I go back to New York and Chicago is a big city. I'll probably never see him again; I'll never understand these things I'm feeling and now I'm suddenly very angry.

Slowly I realise that I'm grinding my teeth and gripping my spoon so hard that I've bent it. Quatre and Wufei are staring at me from across the table, lines of anxiety etched on their faces.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, releasing my mangled spoon and gently placing it back on the table. I give them a shaky smile. "Sorry. I tuned out. Are we ready to leave?"

Quatre blinks once then twice while Wufei just gives me a look that suggests he fearing for my sanity, but neither says anything. They simply nod and we leave.

We stick to the well-lit busy main-streets on our way back to the hotel. Wufei leads the way and I can just tell that Quatre is dying to take a dig at him over the whole shortcut episode but, being the man he is, Quatre just smiles to himself and contentedly follows the striking Chinese man ahead of us.

The doorman smiles at us as we approach our hotel. He tugs at the brim of his cap as we pass through the doors and, almost reflexively, Quatre reaches for his wallet and presses a tip into the elderly man's gnarled hand. He waves us through and gives us a jolly smile which Quatre and Wufei return while I merely nod.

Quatre stops by the front desk to collect our keys while Wufei and I continue on towards the elevator. We've just missed it so we detour to the right and start climbing the stairs. Quatre jogs up behind us, panting slightly, three door passes clutched tightly in his hand. Wufei and I instinctively slow our pace as we climb steadily up to the fifth floor.

We emerge onto the fourth floor landing and just as I move forwards to continue up the next flight of stairs, a harsh, barking voice draws me back. The three of us stare at each other guiltily while we listen to the jumble of voices, but none of us makes any move to leave.

Suddenly a door halfway down the hallway is flung open and a figure strides out, an almost tangible aura of anger and frustration about him.

My heart nearly stops. It's him. I recognise the hair first and then when he looks up, the eyes. As suddenly as it stopped, my heart starts racing, pounding away in my chest so hard that I'm sure Wufei, who is closest, must be able to hear it.

He is younger that I first thought. Perhaps a couple of years younger than I am. Late teens, I judge. There is a large red mark spreading across his left cheek, a mark I could have sworn wasn't there when I saw him earlier. His eyebrows are drawn together in a twisted frown and his hands are clenched at his side.

He stops in the corridor and looks to the left first and then to the right where the three of us are standing. His eyes sweep over us briefly before he starts towards us.

I realise I'm holding my breath.

He has taken barely two steps when a middle-aged man comes hurtling out of the room behind him. The older man reaches out and grabs wildly, his hands finding the boy's long rope of hair and pulling hard.

My stranger yelps in pain, his hands flying to the base of his skull. "Ah, not the hair, not the hair!" he wails. His accent is rough and harsh, the voice of someone who has spent their life on the bottom end of the financial spectrum.

He hits out at the older man, fist connecting with sternum. The man grunts in pain and stumbles backwards.

"You little bastard!" the man shrieks. "I paid you good money. You get back in here and do what I've paid you for!" He reaches for the braid again.

The young hustler flicks his hair out of arms reach with practiced ease. "Fuck you!" he retorts angrily. "I ain't into that shit!" He starts off towards us again. Looking up, he spots us and the tops of his cheeks are now tinged with pink. He averts his eyes to the floor, embarrassed.

"Wait!" The older man makes one last attempt. "I'll pay you more!" He's practically begging now. He seems aware of his audience but, unlike the boy, he's not embarrassed, only desperate.

At the man's words, the braided teen stops dead, indecision playing across his face. He screws up his nose and then his shoulders slump in defeat. He turns around, his eyesight avoiding the three of us standing in the stairwell.

"How much more?" he asks, his voice is soft now, laced with shame.

"Whatever you want! Now get back in here!" The man's voice is hard again. He knows he has won. He reaches out and grabs the arm of the boy, twisting is around and dragging him backwards. He swallows a yelp and allows himself to be man-handled back into the room.

Before he disappears, he turns his head towards us and this time he's staring right at me. I can feel his eyes boring into me and it's like I'm naked under that pained gaze.

And suddenly he's gone and the door is slammed shut behind him with a bang.

Wufei and Quarte and I remain standing there for several minutes after the pair has gone. Then we stare at each other and no one is quite sure what to say.

Quatre has a look of shock and pity on his face and Wufei mumbles something about how selling one's body is dishonourable.

Something inside me stirs and I'm overcome by two sudden urges. The first is the hit Wufei for his judgemental comments. The second to beat down that door and protect that boy from whatever nefarious acts are going on in there.

If Quatre hadn't been standing just in front of me, I probably would have done both.

I've never felt this urge to protect, to save, to hold before. But it fills me with a sense of purpose and suddenly things become very clear.

I turn away and follow Wufei up the stairs. Quatre hands us our keys and we all move away to our own rooms. No one says anything. There isn't really anything to say. We just nod a simple 'goodnight' to each other.

I hesitate and wait until Wufei and Quatre disappear into their rooms, and then I turn around and go back down the hall.

I descend the stairs slowly, my hand sliding down the smooth mahogany banister. I pause on the bottom stair, my foot poised to step onto the landing. For the second time that evening, I look down the fourth floor corridor, my gaze resting on the door that slammed shut a mere ten minutes earlier.

I take a deep breath and then I sit down on that last step, one elbow on the step above and one hand gently skimming across the red velvet carpet.

And I wait.

TBC

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**Author's Note: Hey! I can have more than one Author's Note if I want to! Oh, bugger off! Hmmm, no wait! I do have a point, I swear! **

**Oh, that's right… this is your cue to review. Please? Don't make me have to beg. OK, I'm done now.**


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Well, here we go… chapter two. It is considerably longer than the first (try twice as long and you're in the right ball-park). Evidently I channel Duo better than Heero. No, not better, just easier (although please don't think that means it was actually easy, because believe me, it wasn't). That said, I'm not entirely sure about my characterisation. He's a hustler in this fic, that's just the way the plot developed, but I didn't want him to be a helpless victim. I wanted my Duo to have the strength and intelligence and charm I've always imagined him to have. I don't know whether I've succeeded or not so please let me know what you think. Also, I know next to nothing about prostitution so take everything I've written with a grain of salt.**

**OK, enough blabbing on with the story. I hope you like and please, don't forget to review.**

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Part One – Chapter Two

Duo:

It's dark in the room. The only light is coming in through the window from the streetlamp outside. Every so often the lamp flickers ever so slightly, shifting the orange shadows on the wall. This evening has just confirmed every bad stereotypical b-grade movie depiction of prostitution. I'd laugh if it wasn't so fucking depressing.

I lie as still as I can, waiting for the breath of the man next to me to deepen and steady. Finally, just when my leg is beginning to cramp from tension, a low rumbling snore reverberates around the room and I breathe an unconscious sigh of relief.

I move slowly and carefully as I roll myself out of the bed. The carpet is smooth and plush under my bare feet and I wriggle my toes; it's been a long time since I was taken to a hotel that had carpet as nice as this.

I creep across the dark room, gathering my discarded clothes as I go. When I reach the bathroom I close the door and then flick on the light. It's garishly bright for a moment until my eyes adjust.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I have to look away. There is a bruise beginning to form on my cheek and others across my chest. There is a gash across my shoulder; I think that was from the belt. A faint trickle of blood slides down my skin and onto the silver cross that hangs around my neck.

I feel disgusting. Clammy, sticky, sweaty, sickened, dirty. I want nothing more than to pile myself into the shower and wash every trace of that man off my body. But I don't want to risk the sound waking him up and deciding he wants to go again, so I take one of the face-washers from the little glass shelf and run it briefly under the tap.

It's coarse against my skin but I really don't care. I'd use sandpaper if that was the only thing I could find.

Ten minutes later and now I feel slightly better. Still repulsed, certainly, but at least I'm managing to control my gag reflex.

I dress slowly, pulling each article of clothing on carefully and when I'm finished I decide I'm game enough to look at myself in the mirror again.

The first thing I notice is how pale I look. The eyeliner around my eyes stands out, striking against my pallid complexion and my hair is starting to come out of its customary braid. I want to re-braid it but I never let my hair down if I'm in a situation where someone might walk in on me and see it. I'm very protective of my hair and I'd rather die than let anyone see it un-braided, especially some random pervert.

Don't ask me why. I don't really get the strange bond I have with my hair either. It's probably the most important thing in my life, the only thing I'd protect _with_ my life. Ever since I can remember, my hair has been the only thing I could control. The only thing that was mine, just for me.

At least that's what I tell myself. The fact that the punters like the long braid is another, less appealing reason why I've never cut it off.

I brush my bangs out of my eyes, tucking errant stands behind my ears, and then I brush imaginary specs of lint off my jacket.

This leather jacket is one of the only things I like about my outfit. It's old and faded in places. The stitching on the left shoulder is coming loose and one of the pockets is torn, but I don't give a shit. This jacket is mine. Actually mine, that is.

The stockings I stole from a woman call Mystique. She's a stripper at a club near where I live. She let me use the bathroom in her dressing room once and when I was leaving I saw the fishnet stockings hanging over the back of her chair and I took them. Likewise, this t-shirt was stolen off a washing line. It's black with silver lettering on the front that says "Bite Me". I knew I had to have it the moment I saw it, so I hopped over the fence and nicked it. There's probably some college student out there still wondering where her favourite shirt went.

The shorts came from one of those cheap department stores. I forget which one. Doesn't matter, they're all alike anyway. Nearly got caught that time. I scarpered as soon as the buzzer went off but that fat little security guard was surprisingly fast and I only just managed to get myself and my stolen goods out of harms way in time. Ever since, I've always been wary of security guards. You can't underestimate them, no matter how much they remind you of the Marshmallow Man.

But this jacket I bought with my own money. Saved up the pittance I manage to make each week and bought it.

Same with the boots. I have to say it, these boots are cool. Knee high, lace up, silver heel. They're a bitch to get on and off, but I love them. They kick arse… literally (on the odd occasion when I've found myself in a situation where the only solution is kicking the crap out of whoever is roughing me up).

I sigh heavily as I take in my full appearance. The clothes, the hair, the make-up. How the fuck did I get here?

Easy question actually. Parents died when I was just a kid. Straight into the orphanage for me. I think I was happy there; I have very few memories of it really, but I seem to remember it being not too bad. Until it burnt down. Can you believe that out of two nuns, a priest and 16 kids that _I_ was the only one to survive? Proof that God has a sick sense of humour. Story of my life, really.

So then came the foster homes; I went through four, each one as bad as the last. It's enough to make me think that only the sick and twisted are allowed to foster children. Nah, I'm sure there are good families out there, it's just that I was cursed with luck that meant I never got within a stone's throw of them. Unless I was breaking in to nick something.

After the fourth family who seemed to confuse me with a punching bag, I ran away. Fucked if I was going back to Social Services just so they could foist me off onto another family that probably belonged in Hell or, at the very least, jail.

I was eleven. And I've pretty much been living off my wits ever since. Started off with petty crime but when that didn't pay the bills, I started turning tricks.

This may seem like a very depressing story, and you'd be right, but you'd be surprised how often it happens. How else do you think the backstreets of every major American city get filled with people like me?

So yeah, that's how I got here. Into these clothes, into this life. How did I get into this hotel room with this particular middle-aged pervert? Again, easy question.

I was hanging out near Club X. It's one of the classier strip joints and usually the punters who come out of there looking for company are fairly decent. Or at least, fairly likely to pay up at the end.

It was starting to get really cold. Wind was picking up and I was about ready to pack it all in and go home. I'd just had enough. Every so often I go through periods of being totally apathetic… just sick to death with my life.

I remember the car gliding towards me. Black. Latest model of something flashy. It rolled to a stop next to me and the window slid down. I very nearly told him to piss off. And now, I kinda wish I had.

Instead, I walked down the sidewalk and leant in through the window. The guy was middle-aged. Fairly well off by the look of the car and suit. He was even reasonably good-looking, in an aging, washed-out kinda way. I didn't have to look at the ring on his finger to know he was married. Everything about him screamed 'blonde wife in the suburbs'. And kids, too. Girls. Two girls.

"How much?" he asked me. His voice was smooth and sent shivers down my spine. But not the good kind of shivers.

I told him and he asked me to get in the car. I very nearly didn't. I hesitated with my hand on the door handle. But in the end, I did. I always do.

I was glad when he brought me to this hotel. It's nice. Classy. And if I use liberal amounts of imagination, I can almost fool myself into thinking that I want to be here.

But we get up to the room and imagination or no imagination, it's clear this ain't going to be an easy ride. It's always the ones you least expect. The ones that like things a little rough. When he said that… I don't know, something just clicked. I just didn't give fuck anymore. So I left. OK, tried to leave. Didn't get very far. He offered to pay me more and well, I had my eye on the rent and I just couldn't refuse.

I don't get embarrassed all that easily. I've pretty much seen and heard everything and I'm used to it by now. But tonight? I don't know… I felt humiliated. Standing there in the corridor while he treated me like dirt and then offered me more money so he could continue to treat me like dirt. Even more embarrassing than that was the fact that the whole episode was seen by group of college students.

There were three of them. They were standing on the stairs and they obviously saw and heard the whole damn thing. I don't even know why I was embarrassed. I mean, it's not like I'll ever see them again or that I'm not used to people looking down on me. But somehow this time it was different.

There was a blonde who looked like he was going to cry or something and this Chinese guy who looked like he was one step away from blowing a fuse. And then there was this other guy. I don't know why I remember him more than the first two. He had the most amazing eyes. Really deep blue and icy. The sort of eyes you could spend your whole life trying to decipher and still not get anywhere. Enigmatic. Yeah, that's what really made me ashamed. Those eyes seeing me like that.

A tremulous snore interrupts my thinking and I take that as my cue to leave. I've been standing in the bathroom in a daze for ten minutes. I'm really pushing my luck. I turn the light off and exit, careful that my boots don't click on the bathroom tiles.

He's still sleeping peacefully when I tip-toe back into the room. Sleeping the sleep of the happily sated. If only we were all that lucky.

My fee is lying on the bench, caught in the light from outside. It's almost like it's mocking me. I shove it into my pocket and then I notice his jacket hanging off the back of the chair. I go through the pockets and when I find his wallet I grin. I flick it open and three bright, happy blonde faces grin up at me. I was right. A wife and two girls. They look so innocent, so pure. I wonder if they know what their father does on those nights he works late.

I ignore their dimpled smiles and I feel no guilt or apprehension as I relieve him of the rest of his cash. There isn't much but it's a nice bonus.

I salute his unconscious figure and, tucking the extra money into my back pocket, I twist the doorknob and push the door gently open.

I steal into the corridor, closing the door silently behind me. I pause there for a moment and lean my head against the cool smooth wood. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

I indulge myself for a couple of minutes before I shake my head and turn to go. And there he is. Sitting there on the bottom step of the stairs, gazing coolly at me. Mr. 'deep blue eyes' from earlier.

I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open and I have to remind myself to start breathing again.

What the fuck is he doing there? And now I'm starting to panic. My heart is beating so fast I'm surprised it doesn't leap out of my chest and start doing cartwheels. I take a deep breath and start walking towards him.

I tell myself to stop worrying, to just walk straight past him and down the stairs, but he stands up as I approach and I find myself stopping anyway.

He's taller than me, but not by much. And up close I can see that he's really rather good-looking. No, scratch that, he's fucking gorgeous. If I wasn't in the middle of a panic attack, I'm sure I'd be drooling. A few years older than me maybe, and part-Asian by the looks of him. He has the most adorable hair, wild and untamed. Makes me wonder if he even owns a comb.

But it's the eyes. Just like before, it's the eyes that hook me and reel me in. There's something in them. Something different. OK, this is going to be harder than I thought.

We stand there for several minutes, almost toe-to-toe. I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding?

Eventually he clears his throat. He looks awkward, nervous even. He clenches and unclenches his fists. "I… I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this," he stutters. His voice is low and smooth and although the tone is hard and cold, almost mechanical, there is something lingering underneath, something I can't quite place. And the shivers are back. Good shivers, this time.

I would have smiled except that I seem to be having difficulty doing anything at the moment.

He continues. "I want… I mean, I _would like_ you… to come upstairs with me."

And my heart sinks. He's just like the rest. Just another punter looking for his pound of flesh. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes was obviously just lust. I sigh. "Sorry, pal; I'm off-duty now. You'll have to find someone else to fuck."

A light shade of pink spreads across his cheekbones and I immediately regret my harsh words. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean that." He takes a deep breath and I get the feeling he doesn't do this very often. The whole talking thing, I mean, not just the propositioning of prostitutes.

"You're hurt…" He raises his hand gingerly and it's almost touching my cheek when he sharply draws it away as though he's been burnt. "I would like to fix that for you. And you're obviously exhausted. You need a good night's sleep. You can sleep in my bed. I'm not trying to come on to you or anything." He breaks off and stares at the carpet. In that moment, he suddenly looks so very innocent and sweet – something I haven't seen for a very long time. I find myself almost wishing that he was coming on to me. "Please? I just want to help you," he adds, looking me straight in the eye.

For some reason that riles me. Don't know why. Just the implication that I can't look after myself, I guess.

"Look, I'm really flattered and all, but I don't need your help. I'm fine. I just want to go home and…" I stop. And what? Go home and curl up on my uncomfortable, pathetic excuse for a bed in the cold all alone? Gee, what an attractive prospect.

But I shake my head. I'm resolved. I can't stay here. I can't let myself get sucked in by this guy, no matter how nice or how good-looking he is… if I do, it'll only delay my inevitable return to world I live in, and it'll just make going back even harder. Besides, I refuse to be someone's charity case.

"I'm sorry. Thanks, but no thanks," I give him a half-smile and turn away towards the stairs.

"Wait!" He calls out. "I'll pay you!"

Bingo! Magic words. In spite of myself, I stop. I don't want it to be this way but I just can't help myself. I turn back around to face him and those eyes suck me right back in again. "$150," I say before I can stop myself.

He nods in confirmation, a tiny glint of hope showing behind those stony blue orbs.

And now I'm goggling in disbelief. He actually said yes? I'm not sure I was expecting that. "You'll actually pay me 150 big ones just to have the pleasure of my platonic company for the night. You don't even want a blowjob or nothing?" I say incredulously.

"Yes. If that is the only way I can convince you to stay, I will pay you," he states as though he's just commenting on the weather.

Suddenly, being _his_ charity case doesn't sound like such a bad prospect. I have this warm feeling inside. I don't think I've ever felt this before. What is it? It's not attraction or lust or anything like that. I've felt that plenty of times before and this is quite different. Is it relief or gratitude or hope? I don't know and frankly I don't care, I simply latch onto it and in that moment I never want to let it go.

I reach out and twine my fingers through his. For several moments he just stares down at our conjoined hands before he slowly curls his fingers around mine.

I have to smile. His hand is so warm and soft; his fingers are long and elegant… pianist's hands. OK, I've never met a pianist, let alone looked at his hands, but this is what I'd imagine them to be like.

"OK, hot stuff! Lead the way," I say with a grin. He gives me a startled look before turning away and mounting the stairs. He doesn't let go of my hand and I let him lead me up the staircase to his room. I nearly laugh out loud. I've done a lot of things with men, most of which you probably don't want to hear about, but I don't think I've ever held hands before.

This room is bigger than the one downstairs. There is a little sitting room and a balcony as well as a bedroom and bathroom. Mr. 'deep blue eyes' looks just like a regular college kid in faded blue jeans and a black jacket but it's clear from this room that he must have money. Or at least whoever paid for this trip has money.

He releases my hand as he closes the door behind us. I immediately take the liberty of giving myself a tour. The bathroom is gleaming and white. The bedroom looks comfortable and the bed is almost beckoning to my tired body. The balcony is small but cosy and the view across Chicago is amazing. The lights are beautiful, illuminating the black sky from below. I screw up my eyes into a squint and tip my head from side to side like I used to do when I was a kid. The lights became tiny pin-pricks of light twinkling like distant hovering pixies.

When I re-enter the living room, Mr 'deep blue eyes' is taking off his jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair. On the desk in front of him, a laptop is set up. The date and time bounce merrily around the screen but he moves the mouse and the screen saver fades away.

I cross the room and stand next to him, peering down at the little screen. I'm fascinated. I've only ever used a computer once and that was to play solitaire, but ever since, I've had this niggling little dream to one day actually own one myself.

He moves the mouse. The screen changes rapidly. Those pianist fingers glide over the keys and the screen flickers with each touch. I find myself getting dizzy as I try to follow the movements.

This guy is obviously very talented with computers. The sleazy part of my brain wonders what else he might be talented at but I shove those thoughts away before I find myself completely in the gutter.

I have to remind myself that he's not here for that. He doesn't want that. Hell, he's probably not even gay; the clothes and the voice and the tense way he walks, they all scream straight. You see, I'm destined to always like unattainable guys. That's God's twisted sense of humour showing through again.

My eyes are beginning to hurt from concentrating on the screen so I step away, rubbing them with the tips of my fingers.

Mr. 'deep, blue eyes' turns around and looks sheepishly at me. "Sorry. I got carried away. Quatre says I'd marry my laptop if I could," he apologises.

I grin. "Nah, don't worry. Who's Quatre?" I ask, trying to sound casual. Brother? Friend? Lover? Oh please don't let it be the last one.

"He's my best friend," Mr. 'deep, blue eyes' answers. "We went to high school together but we really only became friends in our first year of college. He's the blonde one you saw earlier. The other is Wufei."

I nod and suddenly I realise that I know that this guy goes to college, has two friends called Quatre and Wufei and an obsession with computers, but I don't even know his name.

"I'm Duo, by the way," I say, holding out my hand.

He winces. "Of course. I'm sorry. I'm Heero." We shake hands briefly. His handshake is firm but comfortable. Not limp and wet-fish-like nor rough and one step away from breaking your fingers. Just perfectly in-between. That's another point for Mr. 'deep, blue eyes' whose real name is Heero.

"Heero. Cool name. Where's it from?" Even to my ears it sounds like such a lame question, like I'm making pointless small talk. But I actually really want to know.

"Japan," he answers.

"Oh yeah? Cool. I kinda figured you were Asian. But the eyes threw me off a bit. I didn't know Japanese guys could have blue eyes," I'm prattling and I know it, but he makes me nervous and I ramble when I'm nervous.

"It's not very common. But my mother is American," he replies. His voice is so calm. Eeep, there are those shivers again.

He suddenly seems to realise that we're standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry, Duo. Would you like to sit down? Or you can have a shower if you'd like…" Shower? OK, it's official, I love this guy.

"I'd kill for a shower right about now," I say, eyeing the pearly white tiles from where I'm standing and practically drooling.

"Of course." He smiles and he seems really pleased. He takes me into the bathroom. "These towels are clean. And you may use my shampoo if you want to wash your hair…" Do I ever!?! He thinks of something and disappears for a moment. When he returns, he's carrying a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. "Here, you can wear these if you'd like. They're clean," he assures me. I take the clothes and I'm suddenly very touched at how hard he's working to make me feel comfortable.

"Thanks, man," I say sincerely, giving him my best smile.

He returns my smile slightly awkwardly. I get the feeling that he doesn't smile very often.

"I'll be in the other room if you need me," he says. "Take your time."

And I do. The water is so hot and steamy and it feels delicious beating down on my sore skin. The pitiful trickle of water my shower at home produces pales in comparison. I hesitate slightly but in the end, I release my hair from its braid and let the soggy mess hang limply around me.

I smell his shampoo as I squirt some into my hand. It smells fresh and almost icy. The name on the bottle says "Sea Breeze" and I find myself thinking that it's a scent that suits Heero rather well. Fresh and almost icy.

As I massage the soap into my hair I chuckle. It's strange to think that I've known Heero all of half an hour and he already has a smell. And I know that even though I'll probably never see him again after tonight, that scent will be forever etched in my mind.

When I'm finished, I turn off the water and step out of the shower onto the plush white bathmat. I wrap a fluffy white towel around my waist, relishing in the soft cosy feel against my damp skin. OK, this may sound pathetic, but being in a bathroom that actually has a bathmat and nice towels is a rare thing for me.

I run my hand across the mirror, leaving streaky finger marks on the fogged-up glass. I flick on the fan and slowly the steam disperses and the mirror clears.

Just like I had done in the room downstairs, I stand for several minutes staring at my reflection.

My hair hangs down to the tops of my thighs… a long wet curtain of bedraggled tangles framing my face. The make-up has been washed away and my skin feels fresh and new. I suddenly look much younger.

Droplets of water still linger across my chest and the tiny silver cross that always adorns my neck gleams under the bright lights. The hot water has got my circulation working again and my skin looks healthier and more robust; it is no longer that sickly pale colour and so although the bruises are now turning a nasty purple shade, they don't look so bad in contrast.

I chuckle to myself. It's amazing what a simple, decent shower can do for a person.

There is a comb lying beside the basin. Evidently he does own one, but I remember his hair and I'm still not entirely convinced he actually uses it. I hesitate but then I figure, this guy has just let me use his shower and his shampoo and is lending me his clothes, so he probably won't object to me borrowing his comb.

It slides through my wet hair brushing drops of water to the floor where they soak into the white mat.

Combed and tangle-free, I flick it back over my shoulders and my fingers automatically work through it, twisting the strands into a braid. When I was a kid at the orphanage, Sister Helen used to do this for me. After she died, it took me nearly a year before I could do it properly by myself. Now it's second nature. I could probably do it in my sleep. I fasten the tie at the end and let fall down my back where it hangs clinging to the curve of my spine.

The sound of voices from the other room startles me. I panic momentarily. Maybe Heero's changed his mind and has called security to come and get rid of me? OK, so I'm paranoid; you would be too if you lived my life.

I force myself to relax, telling myself that Heero is one of the good ones and that he'd never throw me out like yesterday's trash. I'm still not entirely convinced that this is true but it does make my heart rate lower and the instinct to run abate.

I release the towel around my waist and hastily brush away the remaining drops of water that still cling to my skin. As the towel brushes over the cut on my shoulder, I hiss in pain. It doesn't actually hurt that much, but I've always been a bit of a drama-queen.

I hang the towel on the back of the door next to what is presumably Heero's towel. It's not part of the hotel set; it's dark blue with a single white stripe running down each side. It's plain and simple and yet pretty fucking classy.

I realise that I'm not really surprised that Heero isn't using the hotel towels. He seems kinda uptight and fastidious and bringing a towel from home would definitely fit that.

I pull my boxers on. They're tight and black and don't really leave much to the imagination. But then, they are underwear so I suppose they're not really meant to. They're not the sort of thing I would chose to wear if I lived a regular life, but in my line of work they're an unofficial uniform.

Heero's grey sweatpants are too big, that much is clear when I put them on. They're slightly too long in the leg and the waist hangs low on my hips. But they're clean and comfortable and most importantly, completely and utterly normal. The t-shirt is white and judging from the complete lack of creases I guess that Heero has, at some stage, obsessively ironed it. It's also too big, not by much, but just enough for it to be clear that it's not really my shirt. I'm not as broad across the chest as I imagine Heero is but at least my slender frame isn't completely drowned in the material.

When I look in the mirror, it almost feels like these are my clothes. That I'm just a regular teenager, living a normal life. But my eyes drop to the floor where my street-walking clothes are piled in a crumpled heap and I remember that these aren't my clothes, that I'm most certainly not a regular teenager and that my life is anything but normal.

I gather my clothes up in my arms and exit the bathroom cautiously, peering around the doorframe looking for Heero.

He's sitting at the table in front of his laptop. Next to the computer, a small pile of crisp green notes is waiting innocuously, a reminder of why I'm here. He looks up as I enter. I cast him a friendly grin as I drop my clothes on a chair, ignoring the money.

"Man, you have no idea how good I feel now!" I exclaim and it's true.

He positively beams. OK, he gives me a tiny half-smile but from what I've seen so far, that's probably as close to a beam as I'm gonna get.

"I'm glad, Duo," he says. I nearly laugh. His voice is so stern and monotonous, and everything he says is so polite.

"I feel like something out of 'Pretty Woman'," I say, hoping I can draw a laugh out of him.

Success! He gives a tiny chuckle and it feels like hot chocolate running down my throat. My joke wasn't exactly stellar but I can tell that he's genuinely amused and that just makes my grin even bigger.

He closes his laptop silently and turns around to face me properly. He's holding something in his hands and when he stands and approaches me, he holds it out for me to take. It's not until he's pressing it into my hands that I realise that it's an ice-pack.

"For your cheek," he elucidates. "Room service brought it up." Ah, that explains the voices. Not security, then. I breathe an unconscious sigh of relief.

I take the ice-pack and put it to my face. I don't know what I was expecting, but I jump when the cold touches my skin. He smiles at me and I blush. I hadn't really paid much attention to the bruise until now but, in spite of the sudden cold, the ice is actually soothing. Plus if the swellings goes down now then I stand a chance of being able to cover up this ugly mother of a bruise with make-up, which means I'll be able to work tomorrow night and maybe, just maybe I'll manage to the rent paid on time.

"Thanks, Heero," I say as I lower myself to the couch. It's big; I estimate that it could comfortably seat three people. It's soft and I almost lose myself in the plush cushions. The shower, the clean clothes, the couch, the heat which is wafting across the room from the vents… it's so relaxing. It's divine… probably the most comfortable and contented I've ever been in my short miserable little life.

I want to tell Heero this, but for some reason I'm embarrassed to. I'm sure he knows that I'm not the sort of person who is used to all this stuff and I'm sure he doesn't think worse of me for it, but I still don't want to admit it to him. Or is it that I don't want to admit it to myself?

Heero sits down on the coffee table in front of me. "How is it?" he asks, his eyebrows drawn together in unmistakable concern.

"It's great," I said. "Fucking freezing, but great."

He nods in a business-like fashion and then remembers to smile. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks.

I hesitate and then tell him. "Just a coupla bruises on my chest and a kinda cut on my shoulder. It's nothing, but," I say casually.

He gives me a stern look and I find myself blushing again. I don't think I've blushed this much in my entire life. For someone who makes his living being sexy and seductive, I'm really acting like I've never been alone with another man before.

"Will you let me look at it?" he asks. I nod because I simply couldn't say no even if I tried.

He gently takes the ice-pack away from my face. His fingers brush momentarily against my cheek and I shiver unconsciously.

"Would you like a jumper or a blanket or something?" he asks.

"Nah, I'm fine, really. But thanks," I assure him. I'm not cold, not even close.

"Hn," he says as he lays the ice-pack down on the table beside him. I'm not sure if that's a yes or a no or just some weird 'I'm thinking' noise, so I say nothing in response and just wait.

He runs his eyes over me and he seems to be hesitating over something. I'm confused and now he looks confused.

Gingerly he reaches one hand out and indicates the hem of my t-shirt. Belatedly, I realise that he wants me to take my shirt off.

I hook my thumbs in the hem and pull it up and off, letting it drop onto the couch next to me.

I feel slightly embarrassed sitting there, half-naked in front of him. Don't ask me why. It's ridiculous. Everyday I take off more than this in front of total strangers and here I am as awkward as a virgin about taking off my shirt. This guy is affecting me something terrible.

He frowns as his gaze takes in the bruising. I'm not talking a regular frown here; I'm talking a thunderous, murderous frown. I'm rather taken aback by the strength and power of that simple expression. If I didn't instinctively trust this guy, I'm sure I'd be scared out of my wits.

"How?" he asks, his stony eyes unreadable.

"Belt," I say simply. I don't elaborate. I'm sure he can use his imagination. His eyebrows snap together in anger and his fists clench. He forces himself to relax and then he speaks.

"Suck your stomach in," he instructs me.

I do as he say, wondering where on earth he's going with this. It takes me by complete surprise when his fingers trail up my torso following the line of my rib cage. I shiver again and he apologises.

"I'm sorry. Does that hurt?"

I shake my head. My ribs are slightly tender but it's nothing I haven't felt before.

"They're not broken," he tells me. His hands drop back to his side and I find myself wishing he was still touching me.

OK, remember before when I said that whatever I was feeling for Heero wasn't attraction? Not strictly true anymore. There is definitely attraction happening here. Not just the usual 'oooh, I'd rather like to fuck him' sort of attraction but the kind where my legs go weak when he smiles at me and I get a funny warm feeling in my stomach. It's absurd, but there we are.

I cut my thinking off right there before it starts wandering into dangerous territory. I can't fall for a guy like this. I'm just white trash and I'll just end up getting hurt if I start to think otherwise.

It takes me a moment or two to realise that he's gone. I swivel around in my seat, craning my neck to peer into the bedroom. He appears in the bedroom door carrying a small white case. I recognise the solid red cross on the lid.

He sits back down opposite me, perching the case on his knees. "I should bandage your ribs. It will help with the bruising and swelling," he states, lifting the lid. "And I'll disinfect that cut and bandage it as well."

I nod dumbly. "Thanks for taking care of me," I say.

"You're welcome," he says simply, placing the first-aid kit next to him, a roll of bandages in his other hand.

He rests the roll of white cloth in my lap and shuffles closer so that he's perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table.

He squeezes a thick white cream onto his fingers and I have to close my eyes to stop myself from thinking naughty thoughts.

When his fingers glide over my shoulder, it's cold and stinging. I open my eyes and hiss for dramatic effect.

He pulls away guiltily, looking me straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. This will sting a bit," he says, rather unnecessarily before his fingers find the cut again.

"It's fine," I assure him. When he's done, he wipes his hands on his jeans and presses a strip of gauze to the gash. It stays in place, stuck to my sticky skin, while he reaches for the bandage. He unravels it slightly and begins to wrap it around my torso starting at the bottom of my ribs and working his way upwards. Each time it goes around my back he leans forward, his arms going around me as he passes the roll from one hand to the other. It's almost like he's embracing me.

I make idle chit-chat to distract myself. "So, Heero, where you from?"

He doesn't answer at first and I wonder if he's heard me. Just as I'm about to repeat the question, he answers. "New York. I'm at NYU," he says softly. "But I'm originally from Boston."

Ah, New York. Mr. 'deep, blue eyes', whose name is Heero, goes to college, has two friends called Quatre and Wufei, an obsession with computers, and lives in New York. My mental picture slowly gets clearer.

The arms wrap around me again and I nearly stop breathing. "New York, huh? I've always wanted to go to the Big Apple, yanno? See Central Park, Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Broadway..." I trail off.

"You'll have to come and visit then," he says. I can't see his eyes and so I can't tell if he's being serious or not.

"Yeah, guess I will," I laugh nervously. "So what brings you to Chicago? Other than the pleasure of my company."

The bandage comes up and over my shoulder. "Quatre had a seminar. Wufei and I came along to keep him company," Heero answers.

"Work then. I thought maybe you came down to have some fun or something. Road trip, yanno?"

He doesn't answer; he just raises one eyebrow, a cynical glint in his dark blue eyes.

"OK, OK," I laugh. "Not the road trip type."

"Hai, definitely not," he asserts before returning to his task.

There are a multitude of questions zooming around in my head that I'm just dying to ask. But Heero doesn't really seem like the communicative type; so far, his answers have been pretty perfunctory. I risk a fairly innocuous inquiry.

"So, how old are you, Heero?"

He finishes bandaging my shoulder, securing the end with a clip and sitting back to survey his work. He makes an adjustment or two and then finally seems satisfied.

"20," he answers, looking up to meet my eyes.

20. That's what I'd figured. Somewhere around there. Couple of years older than me. "Ah, you've finally escaped the dreaded teenage years," I joke. "I'm nearly 18, so I've still got a coupla years ahead of me. But I don't mind. Younger is better in my line of work, yanno?"

He nods. His eyes drop to my collar bone. Slowly, cautiously, he reaches out and lets one single finger slide down the cross around my neck.

He doesn't ask the question he's thinking but I answer it anyway. "Sister Helen gave it to me," I say softly.

He jerks his hand away and stares at me expressionlessly. Clearly he's not used to people reading his thoughts.

"When I was just a kid, I lived at this Orphanage," I explain. I don't know why I'm telling Heero this. Usually I'm very tight-lipped about my past. But for some reason I want him to know. I want him to know why I am the way I am. I need him to know that this wasn't my choice.

"Sister Helen was this nun who worked there. She was cool, yanno? I mean, she could be a total bitch when she wanted to be. Real strict and all. But she used to braid my hair every morning, and she was real gentle and caring. And never tried to make me cut it off. I haven't let anyone touch my hair since she died."

He's hesitating. I can almost see the question on his lips. He's desperate to know the answer but he won't ask. He's far too gentlemanly for that.

"In a fire. When I was 7," I say finally, putting him out of his misery. "I was the only one who survived. Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, Sister Katherine, all the other kids… they all died." I stop talking and stare at my feet. I'm afraid I'll start crying if I don't. And I haven't cried for years. Boys don't cry.

There are several minutes of excruciating silence before two fingers find my chin, lifting my head up so I'm staring into Heero's eyes. He gives me this smile and I swear to God, my stomach drops down around my knees. He's smiled at me before. But just little half-smiles, nothing like this. His whole face is lit up and it's amazing the difference it makes. He's no longer this stern, brooding figure, he's stunning.

He draws his hand away slowly as he rises. He seats himself gracefully on the sofa next to me, folding his legs under him. He sinks down in the soft cushions just like I did. For a moment, he looks alarmed and awkward but then he visibly relaxes and allows the couch to accept and carry his full weight.

I slip my shirt back on and swivel around so I'm facing him again. And I open my mouth and I just start talking.

I tell him about Sister Helen and the Orphanage and the fire. About the foster homes. About running away and living on the streets. About turning tricks. About everything and anything I can possibly think of.

He sits and listens to me avidly. He doesn't speak much. Occasionally he makes the odd interjection, but for the most part, he just lets me talk. When I'm finally done, my voice is hoarse and dry.

I'm afraid that he's going to start pitying me. If there is one thing I hate, it's condescension. I get it all the time. People look at me and all they're thinking is 'poor little orphan boy forced to sell himself to survive… let's feel sorry for him'. Yeah, I've got a shitty life, but I don't want to be patronised with platitudes. I confess that I've hit more than a few people who've acted that way towards me.

But Heero doesn't do that. He just accepts what I've told him. There is sorrow and compassion in his eyes, but he doesn't try to placate me with pointless pity. And I'm grateful for that.

I find myself grinning. A real grin. And I realise that I've probably smiled more real smiles this evening than I have for years.

I'm naturally a fairly cheerful, optimistic kinda guy. If I wasn't, I probably would have died years ago. But to be strictly truthful, the ever-present Cheshire Cat grin that I wear like an essential piece of clothing is more of an act than anything else.

I stand on the streets every night and laugh and joke with the other hookers. I smile and grin at the punters that cruise past me, but it's all for show.

But tonight, with Heero, the grin on my face is real and I think he realises that.

"You have a nice smile," he says suddenly.

"Thanks," I shrug and try to ignore the butterflies that are practising their trapeze act in my stomach. "I have to keep smiling. I think I'd just wither and die if I ever stopped, yanno? Besides there aren't any punters out there who want a guy who looks like they're one step away from slitting their wrists. Correction: the only punters who want a guy who looks like they're one step away from slitting their wrists should be avoided at all costs," I chuckle to myself, although it's more depressing than funny really.

Heero gives me a strange look, "There is something different about this smile," he says enigmatically, lifting his hand and leaning forwards. He looks like he's about to caress my cheek or something, but he stops just before his fingers brush my skin and lets his hand fall back to his lap. "I mean it… It's not…" he trails off, searching for the right word.

"Reflexive?" I supply. He nods. "Yeah well, something about you just makes me want to smile for real, I guess," I say with a shrug, flashing him another smile.

He returns the smile. This time I laugh.

"What?" he asks me, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"Nothing. You. Everything," I continue to laugh and after a while I hear a slight chuckle escape his lips. I probably look and sound like a lunatic so he's probably laughing at me rather than with me, but I don't care. I don't really give a shit what he laughs at so long as I get to hear that sound.

"You've got a nice smile, too, Heero," I say. And it's true. When he actually smiles a proper smile it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

He looks doubtful. "Really?" he asks sceptically.

"Yep! I may run and I may hide, but I never lie." I grin. He's still not convinced. "OK, some times it's a little wooden," I say with a laugh. "But when you mean it, it's completely different. It's beautiful." I hold my breath, hoping I haven't said too much.

He rewards me with the smile I was just describing and if I hadn't already been holding my breath I certainly would be now. "There, just like that one," I laugh.

"Something about you just makes me want to smile for real," he says softly.

He looks exceedingly uncomfortable and I suddenly feel incredibly touched that he trusts me, a pathetic streetwalker he's known all of five minutes, with his feelings.

I open my mouth to say something but at that moment my stomach rumbles noisily, breaking whatever mood was developing between us. I curse internally.

Heero smiles. "You're hungry. Would you like to order something to eat?"

My heart just about bursts. That saying about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach? Totally true. "Oh, Heero, man I could kiss you!" I exclaim before I can stop myself. There is an awkward pause.

You idiot, Duo! I curse myself. Think before you open your big fat fucking mouth and speak!

"I mean, yeah, I'm hungry. Food would be good. Nice. Whatever," I babble trying to cover my mistake.

Heero uncurls his legs and swings them over the side of the couch. I find myself wondering how someone as stiff and mechanical as Heero can move so gracefully. One of life's many mysteries, I'm sure.

He passes me the menu, subtly shuffling closer. "You can order anything you like," he says, leaning even closer to read the menu upside down.

I run my eyes down the list. Gazpacho? What the fuck's that? I'm embarrassed that I have no idea, although it's not exactly my fault. I'm a pretty smart guy, but it's not like I've ever had the opportunity to learn about all this shit; when you work on the streets you tend to be preoccupied with learning how to fend off the unwanted advances of a guy twice your size rather than memorising all this fancy food crap.

I don't really want to admit my ignorance to Heero but my curiosity seems to be outweighing my humiliation, so I ask him.

"Gazpacho? It's a cold tomato soup," he explains. The corners of his mouth turn ever so slightly upwards into the barest hint of a smile.

"Cold tomato soup," I echo. "Right, well why don't they just write that?"

"Because they want to sound sophisticated?" Heero suggests.

"Yeah, or maybe they're just a bunch of wankers," I mutter.

Heero laughs. "Hai, you're probably right."

"Bistecca?"

"Roast beef," Heero translates for me.

I roll my eyes and continue down the menu. Julienne carrots? OK, I recognise the 'carrots' bit but what's with all this 'Julienne' business? I don't bother to ask Heero. I simply close the menu and look up into those deep blues.

"D'ya reckon they could just do me a burger and fries?" I ask tentatively.

He smiles. "I'm sure they could manage that."

"Cool. Thanks, man," I give him my biggest smile as my stomach rumbles again.

"You're welcome, Duo," he replies as he rises and moves away to the telephone. Damn, the shivers are back again.

Heero's voice rumbles in the background as he orders and I tune out. I hear the click of the receiver being replaced and my eyes fly open again as Heero seats himself beside me once more.

"It's on its way," he says, brushing one hand through his untamed hair. I find my own hand longing to do the same.

Several minutes of comfortable silence tick passed before I speak.

"Hey, Heero?"

"Hmm?" His head turns slightly towards me, inviting me to continue my request.

"Can I put the TV on?" It may sound stupid considering I could be spending my time staring into those eyes and having a deep and meaningful conversation (assuming Heero knows how to hold a conversation – still not sure about that one yet), but ever since I entered this room, I've been itching to turn it on. I don't have a TV at home and I'll be damned if I'm going to pass up this opportunity.

"Of course," Heero replies simply. He tosses me the remote and I catch it nimbly, relishing in the feel of the cool black plastic in my hand.

I turn it on and flick restlessly through the channels. Beside me, Heero tenses. Obviously he's the kinda guy who hates channel-hoppers. Eventually, just as Heero's left eye is starting to twitch irritably, I settle on an old re-run of some 70s cop shop. It's pretty lame but I find myself laughing anyway. Even Heero manages the odd smile and after one of the more inspired gags, he actually snickers.

The food arrives after about half an hour. The room attendant greets us both with a smile, asking us how we are this evening and making idle small talk while he waits for Heero to tip him.

I feel indescribably happy when he doesn't realise what I am, when he treats me respectfully like a regular guest in this hotel.

The food is good. No, better than good. Ecstasy. I let the juice trickle down my chin and drip back onto the plate as I eat. It's just _that_ fucking good.

Heero's eyes remain trained on the TV as I eat, but every so often, his hand will creep across the expanse of couch between us and steal a chip.

I resist the urge to lick the plate. Instead I use my fingers to lap up the last remains of sauce, and for one brief moment this feels real.

I can almost imagine that this is my normal life. Heero would be my lover and we'd live in a nice, cosy apartment together. I'd come home from work (real work, not this sleazy hustler shit) and I'd have a nice long hot shower (and maybe Heero would join me? Eeep, bad Duo!). And then we sit and talk about normal everyday things. We'd have dinner and snuggle up on the couch and watch inane TV together. And everything would be perfect.

The canned laughter from the TV jolts me out of my fantasy and I'm suddenly left feeling very cold.

I realise that I'll never have that. But maybe for just this one night I can pretend. I unfold my legs and shuffle down the couch to where Heero is curled up at the other end. My thigh rests gently against his and I can feel the warmth of his body emanating through his jeans.

He tenses at my contact, but after a moment, he stretches his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. For several minutes he's stiff and tense but I lean my head on his shoulder and let his warmth and the fake TV laughter wash over me. And after a few more moments, he relaxes and everything _is_ perfect.

When the show finally finishes, I'm in the early stages of sleep. My eyelids are drooping and my limbs feel immeasurably heavy. I snuggle closer to Heero, burying myself in his embrace. The air in the room is starting to get chilled and I revel in the steady warmth Heero provides.

He stirs slightly, then withdraws his arm and stands up. I grumble and I can feel the pout on my lips. He laughs softly and takes my hands, heaving me to my feet.

I'm instantly gripped by a cold fear. He's going to make me leave now. My eyes fly open and I'm suddenly very awake again.

Heero's hand rests on my shoulder reassuringly. He nods towards the bedroom. "There's nothing on so we might as well go to bed. We'll be more comfortable there. I mean… well, you know what I mean." A tiny hint of a blush appears on his cheeks and judging from the heat in my face, I'd say he's not alone in that.

I go to the bathroom while he turns off the TV and checks his computer. I wait hesitantly in the bedroom doorway while he uses the bathroom himself. He reappears, flicking the lights off as he moves silently across the room towards me.

He guides me through the darkness into the bedroom, switching the bedside lamp on and turning down the covers.

"Get in," he says, gesturing towards the bed. I slide between the sheets. They're cool, but soft and oh, so comfortable. My head hits the pillow and I only just manage to swallow a moan of contentment.

Heero moves away from the bed, bending over a suitcase in the corner. He pulls his shirt up over his head and I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open again.

The muscles in his back ripple effortlessly and I swallow uncomfortably. I was right. He is broad across the shoulders, and his skin is almost golden in the soft lamplight. He must work out. There is no way anyone could possibly be born with a figure like that. Eeep, stop drooling Duo!

He pulls a t-shirt over his head and I only just manage to control the urge to tell him to leave it off. He bends over and removes his jeans, and I have to look away. I don't trust myself to look and not jump him. When I finally gather the courage to look back again, he's closer, hovering beside the bed wearing sweatpants.

There is a strange emotion playing on his usually expressionless face. Doubt? Hesitation? "I can sleep on the couch, if you'd like," he finally says after several moments.

"No!" I say immediately. A little too quickly. "I mean, no, it's fine. I don't want to turf you out of your own bed," I ramble, patting the mattress beside me.

He casts me a half-smile and pulls back the covers, sliding in beside me, leaving a decent amount of space between us. He lies on his side, his head propped up on one hand, gazing at me. I find myself getting hard and I roll over onto my stomach to hide it, turning my head to face him.

Earlier, in front of the TV, I was so tired I was nearly asleep right there, but now I seem to be getting my second wind. I don't want to go to sleep just yet because if I do then the time will fly and I'll wake up and it will be time to leave. He seems to be thinking the same thing because he makes no move to go to sleep.

"Would you ever think about leaving with me if I asked you to?" His question comes out of the blue and I wonder if he's been waiting all night to ask it.

"No," I answer immediately. And it's the truth. Every fibre of my being is screaming 'Yes! Take me home with you!' but I know that I wouldn't… couldn't.

"I'm nothing, Heero," I tell him. "I was born nothing and I'll die nothing. You can't change that no matter how hard you try."

A flash of anger sweeps across his face and for one moment I think he's going to argue. Part of me wants him to, wants him to tell me I'm wrong, but another stronger part is pleading with him to drop it, to stop giving me false hope.

In the end he doesn't push the issue any farther. But there is a hint of determination lurking in his eyes and I resolve that I won't let him ask me again because I honestly don't think I'll have the strength to say 'no' a second time.

I'm afraid that little moment will sour the rest of the night. I'm afraid that he'll ask me to leave now that he knows he can't save me.

I timidly ask him about his life. Banal questions about what he's studying at NYU. He answers readily enough and then gives me a smile and I know that he doesn't blame me for answering the way I did. And it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

After some not so gentle prodding, I manage to draw out more details about his life (although it's rather like trying to get blood out of a stone). He tells me about his family in Boston. He has a mother and a father and a little brother called Shinji who is 13 and, by all accounts, a pain in the arse. He tells me that his father had expected him to go to MIT and how he'd purposely chosen NYU to spite him. He tells me about Quatre and Wufei and how they met, and when he's done I feel like I know them as well, like they're my friends too.

I butt in and ask questions and make stupid comments all the while he's talking. I can't help myself. I'm just not the type to sit and listen silently. I have to be an active participant in every conversation I have, even if all I'm contributing is an endless stream of interruptions. At times, I could swear he's itching to tell me to shut up. He'll stop and give me a vaguely annoyed look while he waits for me to finish, but other times, when he thinks I'm not looking, he'll have this amused little smile on his face.

The hours tick by as we talk and I'm so overwhelmingly happy I almost can't believe this is real. I resist the urge to pinch myself just in case this does turn out to be a dream.

I'm not sure who fell asleep first but the next thing I register is the early morning sun just beginning to peak through the gap in the curtains.

I'm sprawled across most of the mattress, taking up more room than I thought was humanly possible. Next to me, Heero is curled into a tiny, neat ball, his head resting on one arm.

He looks so peaceful and calm. When he's awake, he has this permanently tense aura, but asleep, he's completely relaxed. He looks much younger, somehow. And innocent. It's heartstoppingly beautiful.

You have no idea how much I just want to curl up next to him and stay here forever. Last night was probably the most amazing experience I've ever had, and all we did was talk. I've known him less than 12 hours and yet it feels much longer than that. It feels like he knows me completely. The persona I wear every time I step out on to the street is one that's jolly and cheerful and fun and entertaining, but I rarely feel like that on the inside. But with Heero, the laughter and the smiles are real and I realise with a jolt that last night, for the first time in a very long time, I was actually glad to be alive.

But looking at him now as the sun rises on the other side of the window, I realise that I have to leave. I have to leave before he wakes up and asks me that question again.

I can't go thinking above my station. I don't deserve to be happy. I'm just a street-rat turned hustler. The world I belong to is dirty and gritty and rough, full of death and pain. The longer I stay here, the more I contaminate Heero. And he doesn't deserve that.

I roll myself out of bed as carefully as I can. This is a movement that I've been perfecting for years and by now I can leave a bed without the other occupant even registering a dip in the mattress.

Heero stirs momentarily and I freeze, willing him back into slumber. He gives a tiny little sigh and buries his head further into the pillow.

I rise gently. The carpet is soft and luxurious and it's just a further reminder that I don't belong here. I creep across the room and then out into the living room where I retrieve my clothes from the chair.

In the bathroom, I change hurriedly, pulling my old, worn, street clothes back on. Each item of clothing feels like a prison sentence. When I'm finally dressed I look at myself in the mirror and whatever I saw there last night is gone. And all that's left is reality.

I fold Heero's clothes and leave them on the table next to his laptop. The money is still lying there on the bench and although a tiny part of me wants to leave it there, I reflexively reach out and push it into my pocket.

My hands brush over his jacket which is hanging over the back of the chair. Deep inside me a tiny little automatic impulse nags persistently. I glance back through the doorway to where Heero is sleeping peacefully. So naïve. It's almost too easy. I reach into one of the pockets and withdraw his wallet.

No photos this time, but my heart is thumping in my chest as I flick through the wad of cash. I instantly feel sick and guilty but I want him to forget about me. I want him to write me off as just another lost soul. He needs to fully understand that I'm irredeemable.

So I take the money. I stare at it for several moments and then I take $100 and put the rest back, leaving his wallet on the table beside his clothes.

A flash of gold catches my eye. A shiny, expensive, hand-made gold watch winks up at me, daring me to take it. And I do. It's heavy in my pocket where it's nestled amongst my ill-gotten gains. The ever-present weight feeds my guilt and I do my best to ignore it.

I scrawl a hasty note for Heero. My hand is shaking as I write. There is so much I want to say but I settle for just a few brief words and hope that Heero will understand what I'm trying to tell him.

I pause by the door and stare at Heero. It takes all my strength not to go back to that bed and cuddle up to him.

My hand finds the door handle and twists slowly. Before I can change my mind, I cross the threshold and close that door behind me forever. And it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

My boots click on the pavement as I scurry away from the hotel. It feels like everyone I pass is staring at me, like I've got the words 'thief' and 'whore' tattooed to my forehead.

It's almost a relief when I finally reach the dirty, shabby apartment building where I live. The lift has never worked, so I wearily climb the stairs as I always do.

The door bangs shut behind me and I'm home. It's sickening to realise that that hotel room felt more like a home than this place ever has. And it's unsettling to realise that that has nothing to do with the room itself and everything to do with Heero.

Suddenly my heart is racing and I feel the prickle of impending tears in the corners of my eyes. It's been years since I've cried. I didn't cry when Sister Helen and Father Maxwell died. I didn't cry the first night I spent on the streets. I didn't cry the first time some big, heavy, repulsive pervert crushed me beneath his thrusting weight. But this morning, it takes all my strength to stop those tears from falling.

My hands are shaking and I feel so angry and sick and tired that I almost collapse to the floor right where I am. My quivering fingers retrieve the money from my pocket. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and I fling it across the room, desperate to get it away from me. It lies scattered across the floor but I still don't feel any better.

And the weight of Heero's watch is still with me. It twinkles at me in the dim light and in spite of all my efforts a single tear trickles down my cheek and splashes onto the shiny watch face.

I curl up on my bed, drawing the blankets around me. I clutch the watch to my chest and I cry.

I cry for Heero and I cry for myself, but most of all, I cry because there isn't anything else I can do.

TBC

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**Author's Notes: Awwww, poor Duo! Sorry about the lack of Heero/Duo goodness. It is on the horizon but we may take a little while to reach it. Be patient.**

**And I just want to give a gigantic, loud, enthusiastic THANKYOU to all those gorgeous wonderful people who reviewed the first chapter. I would take the time to thank you all individually but is not being particularly tolerant of excessive author's notes at the moment and I don't want to incur their wrath. But know that I love and appreciate you all.**

**So, in the light of that last comment, what's the magic word? That's right! Review! Seriously, please help me out, I can't make my writing better without your help.**


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: I meant to put this chapter up yesterday but then I went to this awesome Hill Top Hoods gig at the Uni Bar and completely forgot about everything else (mind-numbingly loud music will do that to a gal). So, sorry about that. But never mind because I'm putting it up now and all is right and rosy with the world. Be warned that there is a teeny tiny bit of 1x1 lime, so if you don't like that sort of stuff… well, then why are you reading this fic?**

**Anyway, enjoy and don't forget to review. I am prepared to worship you forever if you do.**

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Part One – Chapter Three

Heero:

I'm cold and stiff. Those are the first thoughts that register in my sleep-addled brain. I stretch my legs out and it's only then that I realise I'm actually in the bed. The previous two nights I've spent awkwardly on the couch, having fallen asleep whilst working. So why was last night any different?

Instantly I remember and I wonder how I could have ever forgotten, even for just that one moment… Duo.

I sit up, my muscles screaming in protest as I force them to work. The hotel suite is empty. I know it instinctively, but I still search the living room, the bathroom and the balcony. He's gone. Really, I shouldn't be surprised. When I asked Duo that question last night and he said 'no', I knew this is how it would end. But I still feel an unbearable sense of disappointment and loss.

I stand on the balcony for several minutes. My feet are cold on the hard concrete and the light morning breeze chills my bare arms but I stand there anyway. I can't go inside to the emptiness just yet.

The sun has risen and the streets below are just beginning to fill with people as they bustle to and fro. I search the cityscape as though by some divine miracle I'll spot that braid of hair or those incredible eyes. But I don't. All I see is the seemingly endless stream of tiny figures scurrying about their business… greeting friends with big smiles and hugs; leaving a café, coffee clutched in their hands and surreptitiously trying to hide that double chocolate caramel pastry which is most certainly not on their diet sheet; buying a paper from the stand on the corner; arguing good-naturedly as they wait for the bus…

My shoulders slump in defeat and I turn back and re-enter my room. It suddenly feels so very dull and lifeless without Duo in it.

I can almost imagine him sitting there on the couch, his face lit up by the biggest grin I've ever seen. I can almost hear his voice, his laugh, the way he says my name.

All of a sudden, my chest feels tights and I'm having trouble breathing. I don't know what's wrong with me, I've never felt like this before and I don't know how to fix it.

I stumble backwards, and my hip jars against the bench. And that's when I spot the clothes neatly folded next to my laptop. My eyes flicker sideways to my wallet. I don't remember leaving it there last night and I immediately know why it's been removed from my jacket pocket. My heart sinks.

Reflexively, I check how much has been stolen, silently counting through the remaining notes. I'm surprised to find that I've only been relieved of $100. I stare at the amount that's been left behind and wonder why he didn't take it all.

I let my wallet drop back to the table and that's when I realise that he's taken my watch as well. I never really liked that watch. It was a present from my father when I graduated from high school and I've always thought it was as ostentatious as the giver, but in that moment, I miss it.

I feel like I should angry, that I should feel betrayed. But I don't. I'm sad and disappointed… not disappointed in Duo so much as disappointed in life for having to be this way. And suddenly I'm feeling inexplicably lonely.

My gaze rests on a scrap of paper, lying forgotten on the bench. My fingers reach out and pick it up. The neat blue print on one side informs me that breakfast will be served from 6:00am-10:00am in the downstairs dining room. It's been torn off the menu, my brain registers as I turn it over.

The writing is scrawled and messy, only barely decipherable, but I decide that this fits Duo to a tee.

_Heero – I was born nothing and I'll die nothing. You can't change that no matter how hard you try. You can't save me, but thanks for trying anyway. You'll never know how much last night meant to me… Duo._

I can hear his voice in my head as I read. It's the same words he spoke last night. I feel sick in my stomach and I can feel a slight throbbing in my temples, indicating an impending headache.

I'm sad and confused. Duo says that he's nothing and that that will never change. He takes my money and my watch. It should be enough for me to write him off as a lost soul, to forget about him and my pathetic attempt to play the hero. But I can't. I read the note again and again and it's like I can almost see, hear, feel him calling out to me. _Thanks for trying. You'll never know how much last night meant to me_. He's not a lost soul and I could never ever forget about him.

Something is wrong with my eyes. Everything is blurry and there is a persistent niggling itch. It's only when I feel the wetness on my cheeks that I realise that I'm crying. I have never cried before, that I can remember. This is not a familiar feeling. This is a feeling that leaves me confused and unsure and desperately miserable. I can't bear it but I don't know how to make it stop.

A single tear drips from my chin down onto Duo's note, marring the clean white paper with a damp splodge. I cradle it protectively in one hand as I lift the other and angrily brush away my tears.

I resist the urge to sniff despondently. I try, instinctively, to quash my feelings, to bury them deep within me like I have every other time they've raised their unwelcome heads. But this time it's different. This time I can't. Even using every ounce of my will power, I can't ignore the sensations Duo has aroused in me.

Less than 12 hours in Duo's company and suddenly I'm capable of human emotion. It's strange. It feels like he's broken some invisible dam within me and now I can never go back to the way I was.

And as I stand by the balcony door, the white lace curtains brushing against my legs in the light breeze, I realise that perhaps this isn't such a bad thing.

I read the note again even though I've already committed it to memory. You'll never know how much last night meant to me. He's wrong. I do know.

I remember the curve of his smile and the way his mouth seems slightly too big for his face. I remember the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs and the little creases that appear around the corners of his grin. I remember his voice, a voice that sends shivers down my spine. I remember how he trusted me with his past. I remember how he managed to drag a conversation out of me; how he listened and interrupted and drove me crazy and made me feel inexplicably exhilarated. I remember the weight of the disappointment that lodged in my chest when he answered 'no' to my question, and the rush of anger I felt when he was so self-deprecating. I remember the way his warm, lithe body moulded against mine as we sat on the couch. I remember the smell of my shampoo in his hair. I remember feeling so comfortable with him, more comfortable than I've ever felt with anyone, Quatre and Wufei included. I remember the way the juice from his burger dribbled down his chin and how it had taken all my self-control not to run my tongue up that tempting trickle. I remember bandaging his chest and having to restrain myself every time my arms encircled him. I remember the feeling of his breath on my fingers as I reached out to brush them across his adorable smile. I remember standing by the bed and offering to sleep on the couch when all I wanted to do was throw myself at him and kiss him and touch him. I remember the sensation of warmth and relief that clenched my heart when he patted the mattress. I remember watching him after he fell asleep and how every fibre of my being had been screaming to hold him. I remember feeling inexplicable arousal just from looking at him and I remember the numerous times I had to use all my considerable self-control just to get my erection to go away. I remember _every_ single little detail.

Like I said, observant to the point of being obsessive. But I'm glad that I can remember every line on his face, every expression, and every shade of colour in his incredible eyes, every word he spoke, every smile, laugh and blush. I file everything away in my memory so that I can relieve that night again and again.

I realise that in my distraction I'm crumpling his note and I immediately and painstakingly smooth away every crease. I will keep this little scrap of paper forever. Until yesterday, I had always considered my laptop to be the most important object in my possession but now I'm not so sure.

I stop suddenly and laugh out aloud. What am I doing? This is absurd. How can I be feeling like this about Duo? I've barely known him a few hours. How is it that he can be affecting me like this? How is it that in such a short amount of time he managed to break through every single one of my well-constructed defences? How is it that he can make me lose all my precious self-control?

So many questions. They just keep building, one on top of the other… and yet no answers. I simply don't know. And for once this uncertainty is not maddening or frustrating, it's simply accepted. Unexpected certainly, but still accepted and even… enjoyed?

Everything I do is mechanical, clinical. There is no spontaneity in my life, mainly because I hate not being in control. But when I think about the few impulsive, unexpected moments in my life (going to NYU, befriending Quatre and Wufei and especially spending the night with Duo) I realise that those are my most treasured memories. Those will be the times that I will never forget.

However much I crave and need order and control, there is a small part of me that is screaming out for something new and different, something to keep me on my toes, something to keep my life from becoming stagnant.

No, not something but some_one_. Yes, someone… someone like Duo. Someone who can completely overwhelm my senses, someone who can make black seem white, someone who can drag me out of my reclusive shell. Someone… that I'll never have.

And I realise that disappointment and longing are right up there with all the other new-found emotions I discovered last night and this morning.

I sigh. My headache is getting stronger. All these thoughts… they're just going round and round in my head, confusing me, depressing me. I hate it when my thoughts become so scattered. I close my eyes and run free hand through my messy hair, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself.

Suddenly there is a sharp rap at the door. I'm jolted out of my reverie and Duo's precious note slips from my hand, floating gently down to the carpet. I scoop it up before it lands, clutching it firmly in my hand, determined never to let it go.

I cross the room and rest my hand on the doorknob. A tiny part of me is hoping that when I open it, I'll find Duo standing on the other side. But I know I'm being irrational. It won't be him. It won't ever be him again.

I twist the handle and the door swings inwards. Quatre and Wufei are standing in the hallway. Wufei is tapping his foot impatiently.

Quatre opens his mouth to speak as soon as the door opens, but whatever he was going to say seems to get caught in his throat as he runs his gaze over me.

He blinks twice and then exchanges a significant look with Wufei. "Heero?" he asks gently. "Have you just gotten out of bed?"

I look down at my sleep-rumbled clothes and then back up to Quatre. "Hai."

Quatre looks anxious while Wufei just looks perplexed. "It's 9:30am!" Wufei exclaims. "Are you telling us that you, Heero Yuy, who obsessively gets up at 6am every single morning regardless of when he went to sleep, has only just woken up?" Wufei's voice is incredulous and his eyes are wide.

"Hn," I say. I'm not entirely sure I can be bothered explaining.

Quatre frowns, pushing me backwards into the room. His hand comes up to my forehead, apparently checking for a fever.

"Are you feeling alright, Heero?" he asks. Stupid question really. I never get sick.

"I'm fine," I say shortly.

Wufei follows Quatre into the room and the door closes with a click behind them. Quatre's eyes are darting about the room. They take in the clothes Duo left beside my laptop, the empty plate on the coffee table, the cushion on the floor by the couch, the dishevelled covers on the bed.

His gaze returns to me. He raises one eyebrow and I immediately know that I'm not going to be able to leave this room without giving him an explanation. There are times I wish Quatre didn't know me so well.

"Sit down," I tell him, motioning to Wufei as well.

"Heero…" Quatre begins, but I cut him off.

"Sit down," I repeat. Quatre sighs and seats himself on the couch. He's sitting exactly where Duo sat last night and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from asking him to move. Wufei sits down beside Quatre and although there is enough room on that couch for me, I choose to sit in the armchair instead.

I spend a good minute or two getting myself comfortable. Really, I'm just stalling for time and Quatre seems to realise this because he clears his throat and casts me a pointed look.

I roll my eyes but I start talking anyway. "Do you remember last night when we arrived back at the hotel and we saw those two guys on the fourth floor?" I wait for their nod of confirmation and when I receive it, I continue. "Well, after you both went in to bed, I went back downstairs and waited for the young guy to come back out." I don't look at either of them, but I'm pretty sure both of their mouths are hanging open.

"When he did, I asked him to come back up here with me. He said no at first but when I offered to pay him, he agreed." There is more silence. And then finally, "Heero, are you saying…? I mean, did you…?" Quatre isn't quite sure how to finish that question, so he doesn't.

"No," I say hastily. "I didn't… we didn't..." I curse myself internally for stuttering. "I just wanted him to be safe for one night. To give him a place to stay, food, a shower. I just wanted to help him." I look up. Quatre's eyes are telling me that he understands but I don't think he really does.

Wufei, on the other hand, is gaping at me in disbelief. "You paid a hooker to spend the night with you?" he asks. Is that disgust I hear in his voice?

"I already told you it wasn't like that," I defend myself and Duo; I can feel a tinge of anger creeping into my voice. "I wanted to help him."

"But why? He's just a common hustler. It's dishonourable that anyone would sell their body to strangers! You shouldn't…"

My fists clench. I can feel the anger rising, and once again I'm feeling the urge to resort to physical force in order to shut Wufei up. A low grow escapes my throat.

"How dare you judge him!?! You don't know him! Did you ever stop to think that the only reason he would ever do that was because he had no choice? If you're going to be a judgemental bigot at least get your facts straight!" I'm yelling now. It's a shock. I never yell. I don't think I had the depth of emotion for yelling before, but I certainly do now.

Wufei looks stunned and then ashamed. I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to calm down.

"Heero's right," Quatre says softly but firmly, and when I look up I realise that Wufei is blushing. He looks guilty and uncomfortable and I'm glad.

"I apologise, Heero. You are right. I shouldn't have said that. If anyone can be accused of being dishonourable, it is me," Wufei bows his head seriously.

I exhale. The tension in the room evaporates with Wufei's apology. That's probably the one thing I treasure most about my relationship with Wufei. We have regular spats about stupid and inane things but as soon as one of us swallows our pride long enough to apologise, everything is forgiven and forgotten.

I'm eternally grateful that this time he backed down so quickly, but even so, I'm suddenly feeling exhausted. I clutch the note tighter in my hand, trying to draw whatever strength I can from it.

"So, what happened last night?" Quatre asks tentatively.

"Nothing. We just talked and watched TV and then we went to bed and we talked some more. When I woke up he was gone." Suddenly the urge to cry is back again. But this time, in the presence of my two friends, I control it.

"Gone?" Quatre presses.

"Hai, Quatre, gone!" I snap. Quatre looks hurt by my attack and I immediately regret it. "He took my money and my watch and left." Wufei looks vindicated but wisely remains silent. "He left me this note." I hold it up and then pass it to Quatre.

His blonde head bends over it as he deciphers the writing. If he notices the stains where my tears soaked into the paper, he doesn't mention it.

When he looks up, he's smiling sadly. He passes the note to Wufei who reads it and once again looks vaguely guilty.

"I'm sorry, Heero," Quatre says quietly.

"It's fine. I'm fine," I say, even though I'm not.

Wufei passes the note back to me, another apology in his eyes. I fold the note gently with clear straight lines, treasuring my one tangible link to Duo.

For several minutes a strange cloak of silence envelopes the room. Neither Quatre nor Wufei seems to know what to say and I think I've used up my vocabulary quotient for the year.

Eventually Quatre looks up; he instinctively senses that I'm done talking about last night and so tactfully changes the subject. "Wufei and I had come to ask if you wanted to come to the Chicago Cultural Centre with us." His eyes are hopeful, but I'm tired and miserable and in no mood for indulging him.

"I'm sorry, Quatre. I think I'll just stay here. Pack. Get some work done." I hope the unusually gentle tone of my voice will be enough to placate him.

For one brief moment it looks like he's going to argue but surprisingly, it's Wufei who nudges him and then says, "That's fine, Heero. I hope you have a nice day."

I cast him silent thanks, forgiving him for his slurs against Duo. He smiles tightly at me and then rises from the couch, nudging Quatre again with his knee.

"Alright, Heero." Quatre sighs. "Look after yourself. We'll see you tonight. In the lobby?"

I nod and then Wufei is steering Quatre away. The door shuts with a click and I'm alone in the room with the bright sunlight shining in from outside, playing across my defeated form.

I slide Duo's note into my wallet. I've never been the type to carry photos. Quatre has various snaps of his many sisters and Wufei stoically carries around an old, worn, treasured photo of his dead parents, but I've never had anyone in my life that I've ever considered close enough to warrant keeping their picture with me at all times.

Until now. I will keep Duo's note forever in lieu of a picture. That sounds sad and pathetic even to my ears, but really, if you had experienced what I did last night, you'd do exactly the same thing.

I take a shower. I'm one of those people who have to have a shower every single morning and wash their hair. It's part of the terribly anal routine that I have to follow because it feels like the world would implode on me if I ever deviated.

The water beats steadily down on my body, massaging my stiff muscles. It's is hot; hotter than I would normal have. Large blotches of pink mar my skin where the water has made contact.

I let my head fall forwards so the heavy torrent of water drums down on my neck and then over my shoulders.

I reach for the shampoo. I've never really paid any attention to this shampoo; I barely even registered the scent, but now as I squeeze some into my hand I remember the cool, fresh smell that it left in Duo's ophidian hair. I massage the soap into my scalp and as I close my eyes I can almost picture Duo standing in this very spot, doing the very same. I wonder what he looks like with his hair down?

I remember the sight of his bare chest while I bandaged it. Slim and lithe but with definite muscle. The sort of body that possesses far more strength and agility than you would ever think to look at him.

I'm getting hard. I can't help it. All I can see in my mind is the curve of Duo's shoulder, his lips, and those eyes… eyes I could drown in.

The hot water hits my chest, sliding down my torso in a steady stream. The water trickles down over my erection and I hiss as jolts of pleasure tingle up and down my spine.

I duck my head under the water and as the soap suds are rinsed from my soggy hair and glide down my wet form, I wrap my hand around my arousal.

I stroke myself closer and closer to completion; it's far more overwhelming than any other time I've touched myself. It's like all my senses are heightened. I picture Duo in my mind's eye. I can almost feel him writhing beneath me. The water caresses my chest, trickling over my responsive nipples, and I pretend that it's Duo's hot mouth causing those sensations

My hand moves faster as I thrust into my firm grip. I know I won't last much longer. I can't. Duo's eyes are pulling me onwards. I can almost hear his voice echoing around the steam-filled bathroom.

My heart is pounding in my chest so fast it feels like I'm flying. A long, low groan escapes my lips as I find my release.

I stumble forwards. My hands leave my body as I slump forwards, bracing myself with my palms flat against the cool white tiles. My head bows and the water beats down my back.

That was probably the most explosive, overwhelming release I've ever felt and yet now all I want to do is cry. I feel so very alone. The sound of the beating water mingles with my harsh breathing and echoes around the room. Everything else is still and silent and it feels like I'm being mocked by the absence of the one thing I really want.

And guilty... I feel guilty, like I've cheapened the memory of last night. Like I've reduced Duo to the one thing I don't think of him as. Like I'm nothing but another drooling pervert using him for my own pleasure.

But I also feel more liberated and alive that I ever have because for once my emotions are allowed to roam free around inside me. Beneath the water I shake my head. Too many conflicting emotions… loneliness, guilt, pleasure, freedom… I'm so fucking confused.

I don't cry, but my shoulders slump. I stand beneath the steady stream and wait for the water to go cold, but it doesn't. This hotel prides itself on its amenities but I find myself cursing them. I want to feel the water cold on my bare skin… punishing, cleansing.

I move to turn the tap to cold but I change my mind halfway through the action and turn the shower off instead. The rushing water stops immediately and silence descends on the bathroom; it's amazing how the sound of nothing can be so deafening.

I step out of the stall onto the bathmat. The lingering steam kisses my damp skin as I shake my bedraggled hair out of my eyes.

I wipe the condensation off the mirror, leaving smudgy wet trails in my wake. Drops of water trickle down my face from my unruly bangs before dripping down onto my shoulders and mingling with the beads that still linger around my collarbone.

I stare at my reflection critically. All my life I've heard girls swooning over my looks; of course their twittered "Oooh, he's so gorgeous" is usually followed by "It's such a pity about his personality." But really I can't understand what they see in me. I don't think I'm good looking. I'm too hard and cold and stern. From the hard line of my jaw to the steely glint in my eyes, that's all I am and how can that possibly be gorgeous?

No, I'm nothing like Duo who is warm and uplifting; his aura is infectious. From the twinkle in those impossibly large violet eyes to the curve of his smile, he is completely and utterly beautiful. Gorgeous in every sense of the word. And sexy… sexy like you wouldn't believe.

I cut my train of thought off right there. This isn't getting me anywhere except possibly hard again.

I grab my towel off the back of the bathroom door. It's not one of the white plush hotel towels. I never use the ones provided. I have to bring my own. Obsessively neat… I think we've already covered that.

I dry myself roughly. The harsh cotton scratches against my sensitised skin but it's an oddly welcome sensation.

When I finish drying myself I straighten up and meet the steady blue gaze of my reflection. And suddenly I know what I have to do. It probably won't make any difference but I know that I won't be able to leave Chicago without at least trying.

The doorman waves to me as I hurry across the lobby towards him. "You've missed your friends by a good hour, I'd wager," he says with a smile.

I don't answer him. Even if I wasn't in a hurry, I probably wouldn't have made the effort to return his casual greeting. I can almost feel his penetrating frown on my back as I hurry away down the street.

My sneakers scuff on the rough concrete. I'm running now as though those few precious seconds I'll save will make all the difference.

The back street is empty when I arrive. I'm not surprised. It's nearly 11am and the hookers have all gone home to rest and nurse their battle wounds until night falls again.

I race down the street anyway, pausing before the doorway that Duo had appeared from last night. I grasp the door handle in my hand. It's encrusted with rust and grime, and steadfastly locked.

"Hey, whadda ya doin'?" A rough voice drawls behind me.

I swing around. A guy the size of Canada is bearing down on me. His muscles bulge inside his tight black t-shirt and he has a very unappealing sneer on his face. I look past him to the door of Club X which is banging slightly in the light breeze.

I make a quick assessment of the situation. This guy is a bouncer at the club so he's probably well-versed in various forms of self-defence, and although I'm unusually strong for my size I estimate that taking this guy on probably isn't a good idea.

"I'm looking for someone," I shrug slightly and try for a smile, although I think it's more of a grimace than anything else.

"Ya won't find no one in there." He folds his arms across his expansive chest. "That door ain't opened for years," he says, nodding towards the door behind me. "Abandoned. Rusted shut."

"I'm looking for a guy I saw here last night." I'm fairly sure I'm blushing. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. I rarely blush, but then I rarely approached random bouncers about prostitutes. I refuse to let my embarrassment get the better of me so I plough on. "He's a couple of inches shorter than me with really long hair tied back in a braid," I say, hoping the description rings a bell.

"Look, kid, we get all kinds around here. I can't be expected to remember the face of every single bloody whore that crosses my path."

I bristle at the word 'whore'. Judging from the suddenly wary look on the bouncer's face I'm wearing my "Death Glare". He shuffles from one foot to the other. It's testament to the power of my expression that I can make a guy twice my size look nervous.

He shrugs. "Hey, man, don't shoot the messenger!" He holds his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. "Come back tonight, yeah? They come out at sundown." He turns away and strides back to the open door. Just before he disappears into the dark, smoky club beyond, he glances back at me. I think he's both confused and unnerved by my presence.

I wander up and down the full length of the backstreet several times. My feet follow the well-worn sidewalk back and forth restlessly. I don't honestly expect Duo to come back here at this time but I have nothing else to do and I'd rather go mad pacing endlessly here than in my hotel room.

12pm comes and goes and I'm still tracing my now familiar path. My stomach is beginning to complain and I'm reminded of how Duo's stomach had insistently grumbled the night before.

Just as I make up my mind to leave, the door to Club X opens again. The bouncer from earlier steps out onto the street and approaches me. Behind him, I can just make out two other similarly-built figures lingering in the doorway. Back-up.

"Look, kid, I'm gonna to have to ask you to leave. You're makin' the boss nervous with your pacing, OK? You ain't gonna find your friend here anyway. Come back later, yeah?"  
Part of me wants to stay purely because I refuse to be intimidated by anyone, but in the end I simply shrug and mutter my patented noncommittal "Hn".

I follow the length of the street one more time and when I reach the other end I emerge out into the sunlight and make my way back to the hotel to sit and wait for my final hours in Chicago to pass.

And so here I am, once again standing on the balcony of my hotel suite. It's not dark enough for the street lamps to be lit, but the ever-present halo of smog that cloaks this city is streaked with pink and orange as the sun sinks rapidly below the skyline.

Nearly 24 hours later and I'm in the exact position I stood in last night. I'll spend my last few minutes in Chicago in this very spot and it's almost as though the night and day in-between those moments didn't even exist.

No, that's not true. More than ever I am reminded of everything that happened. How can one's life change so drastically in the space of just a few hours? It's almost inconceivable. And yet, it's true. The Heero that stood here last night is significantly different to the Heero that stands here right now.

I stare down at the street below me; I can just make out the tiny figures in the gathering gloom. They clutch their briefcases to their power-suit-clad bodies as their run to catch the bus home to their warm houses and their welcoming families. By now I've stopped looking for Duo amongst them.

It's strange. When I looked out across the Chicago cityscape yesterday all I wanted to do was leave. But now, I feel a strange bond with this foreign place and the thought of leaving is farthest from my mind. Though, of course, my desire to remain here has very little to do with the city itself and everything to do with a certain somebody.

I sigh. This brief 24-hour chapter of my life is coming to an end, perhaps never to be reopened again. Part of me, that new part that was awoken inside me that first moment I laid eyes on Duo, is desperately miserable, longing for that which I've lost, or perhaps that which I never really had in the first place.

But I also feel strangely calm. I've spent these last few hours in quiet reflection and have managed to regain some semblance of balance. The determined, controlled, stoic Heero of old still exists within me, though perhaps with a new sense of purpose, a new view of the series of events that they call life.

And that's Duo. Pure and simple. He's uncovered a new side of me, a side that not even I knew existed.

And yes, it hurts… it hurts like nothing I've ever felt before. It hurts that I found something so new and exhilarating and alive in Duo, only to lose it.

But it's bearable because whatever I discovered in Duo now exists within me as well. I'll carry Duo around with me forever and that's a comforting and liberating thought.

Far below me, a woman is waiting on the sidewalk. Her fiery red hair sways in the breeze as she looks up and down the busy street, her gaze weaving through the traffic. A taxi glides erratically across two lanes and pulls up to the curb, stopping abruptly beside her. As a second woman exits the cab, she is swept up into a welcoming hug by the first. Their faces are lit up as they embrace for the first time in years. Their reason for being is suddenly made so much clearer, so much more meaningful just for seeing each other, just for being with each other.

And for the first time in my life, I actually have an inkling of what it might be like to feel that.

And I smile.

TBC…

* * *

**Author's Notes: OK, now I know what you're thinking… where's the frigging slash?!? And that's a very valid and understandable question. So, I'll be kind and answer it for you. The slash is coming (no pun intended) in Part Two which starts with the next chapter. So, if you have a little patience and a little faith in me, I promise I will deliver.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter; it was the hardest to write so far. And regardless of whether you liked it or hated, please drop me a line and let me know.**


	4. Part Two: Chapter One

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: OK, so here is Part Two of "A Reason For Me"; I had originally planned to put it up yesterday but then I went to see Grinspoon in concert (probably only fellow Aussies will know who they are, but take it from me, they fucking rocked!) and then this morning I got carried away with trying to recover (my ears are still ringing). But it's up now and that's what matters, right? Part Two will be longer than the first part and hopefully will have a happier ending (or at least a slashier one)… but no promises… the Muses take me where they will. **

**Anyway, I hope you like it and would love it if you reviewed.**

Part Two – Chapter One

Heero:

I'm standing on the balcony again. I seem to have developed an affinity for balconies and for the vistas that stretch out before them.

No, that's not true. It's just this view. It's just Chicago. The apartment I shared with Wufei in New York didn't have a balcony and I never really felt the need for one there; and yet the moment I landed back in the Windy City I immediately knew that the only demand the real estate agent would receive from me would be for a balcony.

It's early morning, 6:07am, to be precise. The sun is just beginning to rise; bright rays of pale yellow sunshine streak through the narrow gaps between the high rise buildings. It's cold and fresh and a hint of frost lingers in the air. It's only November; winter seems to be coming early to Chicago this year.

The street below is deserted. It's too early for the commuters to start pouring in from suburbia, and too early for the locals to be beginning their day. It's just me, and it almost feels like I'm the last person on earth.

Most people would find that a depressing and lonely thought, but to me, it's peaceful and calming. Solitude has never bothered me. At least, that's what I tell myself.

In many ways, moving to Chicago was a reflection of the increasing isolation I was experiencing in New York (although in many other ways it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with a single night I experienced many years ago).

My seclusion was partly self-imposed and partly a result of Quatre and Wufei's gradual distancing from my life.

Don't misunderstand me, they are still, and always will be, my best friends, but in the past couple of years they've both matured, both moved away in different directions whilst I just remained in the middle where I always was. I suppose, at 25, it was a natural progression for them. And I suppose that Chicago represented a way for me to do the same.

Quatre is the head of Winner Enterprises Incorporated now. And he does it brilliantly; I always knew he would. When he first started, he continually doubted himself and his abilities. At work, during the day, I would receive flustered phone calls from him. I'm not someone who is particularly inclined towards comfort and so usually all I could manage was a stern, "You'll be fine, Quatre" but I think that was all he needed to hear.

As the months and then years passed, I received fewer calls from Quatre, partly because he became more confident in his position and in himself, and partly because he found someone else to turn to during those stressful times.

At the time, I told myself that I was glad my work no longer suffered the interruption but now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that deep down I was disappointed and confused that some how my position in Quatre's life had been supplanted.

I was all ready to hate Trowa the first time Quatre introduced us; I was convinced that there was no way he could ever be good enough for Quatre or good enough to replace me.

But I was wrong. From the moment I looked into those amazingly clear green eyes and shook the hand that was offered, I knew that Trowa was a good man. And when I saw the way he looked at my friend, the way he found any excuse to touch Quatre even for the briefest of moments, and the way they continued to fall even more hopelessly in love with every minute that passed, I knew that Trowa was the only man that could ever make Quatre happy.

And whenever I see their heads bent together, pale shades of blonde mingling with chestnut brown, I feel an inexplicable sense that somehow our whirling universe has found a balance purely because they are together.

In a way, that's the perfect way to describe their relationship. They are both very different and yet, when you see them together, you can't help but feel that they are two pieces of the same puzzle, destined to be with each other.

Trowa is a writer and sub-editor for the New York Times; he's an intellectual… quiet and reflective and yet with this overwhelmingly strong and commanding presence. His personality, his life and his background are the complete opposite of the high-flying corporate business world that Quatre occupies. But they've discovered a balance that transcends their differences and a deep connection that celebrates their similarities.

And despite all my pre-conceived notions of what Trowa would be like, we've became very good friends. He and I are quite similar in a lot of ways; both silent, stoic and imposing figures, though he does not have that hard, cold edge that I do.

Neither of us is very communicative and so we have developed a means of conversing without words. A raise of one eyebrow, a quirk of the lips, a simple nod and that's all that is needed. It annoys Quatre no end.

I don't see them as often as I did when we first graduated. In fact, I don't see them as often as I'd like. Of course, it doesn't help that I now live in Chicago.

But even before my sudden and unexpected move, our face-to-face contact had been minimal. It's strange how you can live in the same city as someone and yet follow a completely different and often exclusive life.

We'd exchange regular emails and Quatre would usually call once a week to make sure I hadn't worked myself into an early grave, but often a couple of months would pass before we would manage to coincide our schedules. In many ways, that was primarily my fault; I probably should have made more of an effort to stay in closer contact. And yet I can also recognise that our lives just drifted in opposite directions and that it was no one's fault.

But I still miss them. And now the physical distance between us makes that feeling immeasurably worse.

My relationship and contact with Wufei has remained more constant over the years. We continued to live together after we graduated from college. Neither of us had the funds to live alone and as we already had an established and comfortable living arrangement, it made perfect sense to maintain our situation.

I started work as a computer engineer and program developer at the multi-national corporation, Tanaki Industries while Wufei finished Law School.

I was not surprised when he graduated with Honours and I wasn't surprised when he was immediately snapped up by one of New York's most prestigious law firms.

But I was surprised the day he brought Sally home. Wufei had had a few girlfriends through college and I never really liked any of them. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure Wufei really liked any of them. They were all too passive, too girly. However, whatever Wufei thought of those girls he was always honourable and loyal to them. He and I nearly came to blows over one of his more incessantly annoying companions.

But Sally is completely different. She's a med-student; intelligent, quick, witty and most importantly, she calls Wufei on his bullshit. She continually keeps him on his toes and consistently challenges him mentally, emotionally and physically.

She is a much more relaxed and easy-going than Wufei, who is intensely uptight. From his neat, tightly pulled-back hair to his perpetually watchful eyes to his intense stance, he is a tightly coiled spring. But Sally's presence in his life has helped him to relax and unwind. They are different enough to compliment each other and similar enough to work perfectly as a team.

I knew the moment I arrived home from work to find her in our kitchen that she was going to become a permanent fixture in Wufei's life. And I'm glad. She's an amazing woman.

Over time she became incorporated into our household; tampons in the bathroom cupboard, bras in the washing basket, soy milk in the refrigerator, medical textbooks on the coffee table.

In the evenings when I would arrive home from a long day of work, the usual sight that greeted me would be the two of them sitting at the kitchen counter, bent over their textbooks. They always sat side-by-side, close enough for their thighs to be pressed tightly against each other and for Sally's long dirty blonde hair to slide over Wufei's shoulder whenever she lent across to turn her page. That sight is probably one of the things I miss most about New York.

When Wufei came into my room one night and told me that he and Sally wanted to move in together, it wasn't wholly unexpected. Disappointing and saddening perhaps, but from the moment I met Sally, I had been preparing for this eventuality, for another chapter of my life to close.

I offered to move out. Sally was practically living in the apartment already and it made more sense for me to leave than for the two of them to try and find somewhere together.

So I began the painstaking process of trying to find a new home while Sally moved her things in around me.

In the end, I was spared the harrowing experience of Manhattan real estate. Mr Tanaki offered me a promotion and with it, a temporary transfer to another branch of the company.

I didn't need much encouragement to make my decision. Quatre and Wufei had both moved onwards and upwards with their lives and it was about time I did the same.

Mr Tanaki sat me down in his office and informed me that the branches in Washington D.C, San Francisco and Chicago were all looking for someone with my experience to head up their latest projects.

I would like to say that I thought about each option carefully, that I considered the opportunity for advancement within each branch and the projects that they had been developing, but that would be a lie. The truth is, the moment he said Chicago, I made up my mind.

You see, Chicago had always been there in the back of my mind; a niggling, persistent memory that still threatened to engulf even after five long years.

After I returned to New York following my failed attempt to find Duo that day, I often considered returning to Chicago, if only for a few days. I had dreams of meeting Duo again. Our reunion would be on some darkened street. We'd meet by accident and he would fall into my arms and this time the answer on his lips would be 'yes'. It's stupid, I know. But dreams are not meant to be rational or even attainable.

But I never went back, no matter how many times I found myself dialling the number of a travel agent or entering the interstate railway station. It felt like that by trying to track Duo down, I would be intruding in his life; that I would little more than some sad, pathetic stalker who refused to let go of the past.

But as soon as "Chicago" rolled off Mr Tanaki's lips, I knew that I had to take it. I've never believed in fate, but in that instant, it felt like a sign.

And so here I am, standing on a balcony in Chicago, with a new job and a new life stretching out before me.

I've only been living here for two months but already it feels like home. I've adapted quicker and easier to Chicago than I ever did to New York. I know my way around the streets and the public transport system. I know where the shops and restaurants are. I've memorised the garbage collection timetable. I know the names of my neighbours and I even greet them with a smile when we meet in the corridor.

It's amazing how much I've grown since I first left home seven years ago. When I arrived in New York it took all of Quatre's considerable tenacity to maintain some sort of relationship between us. And I'm ashamed to say that I shared a room with Wufei for a full month before I even bothered to find out his name. And yet now I'm perfectly comfortable having coffee with Mrs. Astermeiker from across the hall because I know that she's just as lonely in her little flat as I am.

I'd like to say that it was my own strength and sense of self that enabled this change but really, I had very little to do with it. It was Quatre and Wufei and most importantly Duo, even though I spent the least amount of time with him. They each managed to bring me a little further out of my shell, each gave me a reason to try and be a better person. It's corny and clichéd, I know, but true.

Even though my initial reason for choosing Chicago was to see Duo again, I've had little time to pursue that quest, and even less success.

Of course, the moment I landed, I went straight to that back street on the off-chance he might be there. But he wasn't.

Club X had closed down and there were fewer girls patrolling the street. I approached one of the older hookers. Her face was thin and worn and she looked both bored and desperate. I asked if she knew Duo or knew of his whereabouts. She took my $50 and pointed me to an address on 93rd Street. When I arrived I found myself outside a sprawling multiplex cinema; smiling teenagers laughed around me as they entered the theatres, jostling each other and throwing popcorn.

I was angry and disappointed but not very surprised. I hadn't really expected it to be that easy.

I've been back twice since. Just brief, passing visits. But no Duo and none of the working girls were interested in talking to me, even for the meagre fee I could offer.

For weeks, I've been intending to mount a proper, intensive search. My contract here in Chicago lasts for at least another four months and I'm determined that I will find him before I have to leave again. But I simply haven't had the time. Adjusting to a new workplace, a new home, a new everything has kept me inordinately busy.

But it's Friday today and provided nothing unexpected arises at the office, I shouldn't have any work to finish over the weekend. And as I stand in the early morning breeze, I resolve that tonight, come Hell or high water or any combination of the two, I will find Duo.

In the flat behind me, the radio reminds me that it's nearly 7:30am. As the advertisements start to roll, I turn away from my morning view and, re-entering my living room, I begin to get ready for work.

I'm late to work for the first time in history. Too long spent on the balcony reflecting about my life and too long spent in the shower remembering Duo.

The front office girls all stare at me as I enter at ten past nine. From the looks on their faces, apparently Heero Yuy being late for work is one of the signs of the apocalypse. I cast them a tight smile and their giggles follow me down the corridor to my office.

Relena Peacecraft is waiting for me when I finally arrive. She is standing by my desk, her expensive leather high heels tapping silently on the carpet. She flicks her long dark blonde hair in an irritable gesture and her perfectly manicured fingernails drum impatiently on the file in her hand.

Relena is a member of the legal department here at Tanaki Industries but her real forte lies in public relations. She's very popular around the office because she's polite and approachable. But there is also something very strong and charismatic about her; people can't help listening when she speaks.

The moment I met her I knew she was destined for a job in politics. Her father, a former Governor of Illinois, is now a Senator and it probably won't be long before she forsakes law in favour of following in his footsteps.

She's an interesting and complex woman and, in spite of myself, I find her strangely intriguing; though, of course, only from a distance.

I've met her sort before. She would have been pretty and popular in high school; soft and delicate, even innocent. But then she reached the eye-opening world of the college campus and she came into her own; she discovered her sexuality, her intellect and her possibilities. Now she is a strong, capable and incredibly attractive woman, so very different from the naïve young girl that would have mounted the steps of Harvard all those years ago.

She and I have a strange relationship. From the moment I arrived she made it clear to the other girls in the building that if anyone was going to succeed in seducing me, it would be her.

She pursued me relentlessly for a month. Finally, I capitulated and we had dinner together. It wasn't a total disaster, but it wasn't exactly a success either. After that night, we made a mutual decision that trying to pursue a relationship between us would be completely futile. She realised that my silent, uncommunicative and cold demeanour was not limited to the work place and I realised that even after five years, the only person I was interested in having dinner with had large violet eyes and a braid.

But we've established a comfortable working relationship. I'm not sure you could call us friends (that seems to imply a deeper connection than the one we share) but we work well together and she's invaluable as a colleague.

She still flirts with me at every available opportunity purely because she can. I let her only because I enjoy watching the other girls in the office sulk when she does.

Relena looks up as I close the door behind me. She raises one eyebrow as I silently remove my jacket and move across the room to my desk.

"Ten past nine, Heero?" she purrs. "There might just be hope for you, after all." She gives me a toothy smile which I ignore.

"What can I do for you, Relena?" I ask, as I switch on my computer.

She drops her file on the keyboard in front of me and then moves around to perch on the desk. She crosses her legs and her skirt stretches across her hips, rising and casually revealing several extra inches of long, lean leg.

"Legal contracts for the new project," she murmurs, leaning towards me with a smile.

I give her a look that clearly says I'm not amused. Her soft, tinkly laugh echoes around my office; by now, she finds my disinterest amusing rather than annoying.

"Just read them and sign them and get them back to me," she says, hopping off my desk. She sashays across the room. "Bye, Heero." She gives me a little wave and then shuts the door behind her.

I slide the file to the side and turn back to my computer, relieved that the little ritual dance that transpires between us every morning is over; her boldness still unnerves me, even though I know her act is just for show.

I focus on the screen in front of me. My fingers fly across the keys and my eyebrows draw together in intense concentration; I am completely absorbed in my work. Relena, Chicago and Duo are all pushed from my mind and nothing short of the building collapsing around me could divert my attention.

Just as the numbers on my desk clock register 1pm, I sit back and stretch the aching muscles in my neck. Months ago, Sally gave me a series of exercises that I should do to prevent the tension building up in my neck and shoulders. The instruction sheet is neatly folded inside my laptop case, but I haven't looked at it since I put it there. I'm either a masochist or just stupid. I'm sure Sally would say both, if she knew.

Footsteps shuffle past outside my office and loud chatter reverberates up and down the corridor. The masses are moving to lunch and so I collect my jacket and join them. When I first started, I religiously avoided the cafeteria and, as a general rule, my workmates. But by now I've learnt that if I don't at least make a brief appearance, Relena will just come up and get me anyway; and I'd rather subject myself to the torture of communal lunchtime voluntarily than wait around to be dragged down there by Relena like a puppy on a leash.

The cafeteria is nice, for a cafeteria. The stylish Ikea white plastic chairs and tables are stretched across the room in neat rows and the room is a buzz of cheery greetings and the clatter of cutlery on china.

I collect a tray and move down the queue to receive my hot lunch. It's roast beef and I'm relieved. Yesterday we were served some sort of pie and I spent my entire lunch hour trying to figure out what was actually in it.

I sit by myself. There are plenty of half filled tables that I could sit at, including one where the majority of my fellow computer engineers are sitting. They snort into their gravy as they talk about God knows what. I have very little patience for them and while I will lower myself to work competently with them, I refuse to spend any of my free time in their presence. I'd prefer to sit with the Harpies from the advertising department, and that's saying something.

So I sit alone and dispassionately consume my lunch. I'm halfway through my roast beef when I hear a high-pitched voice calling across the cafeteria.

"Relena! Relena? I have something I need to discuss with you!" one of the Harpies is exclaiming.

I look up and spot Relena just moving away from the lunch queue, tray in hand. She gives the Harpy a polite but clearly dismissive look and then catches my eye with a smile.

She sets her tray down opposite me. "Afternoon, Heero," she says loudly as she seats herself and crosses her long legs.

The front office girls at the next table all pout and mutter amongst themselves. I almost smile before I turn back to my lunch.

"Have you signed my forms, yet?" Relena asks as she stirs the sugar into her coffee. Her voice is back to normal and she's all business.

"Not yet, Relena. I'll get them back to you when I'm done. There is no need to hassle me," I answer without looking up.

"I'll just wait then, shall I?" Relena begins to pick at her own roast beef.

"Hn," is all I bother to respond with.

She clicks her tongue in annoyance and is about to comment on my lack of social skills when a third tray is slid onto the table. My gaze flickers to the left ever so slightly, enough to take in the tray and its cargo: a single shot of espresso and a crumpled packet of cigarettes.

Dorothy Catalonia sinks into the seat beside Relena and, pulling the shot of thick aromatic coffee towards her, sighs in contentment.

I don't like Dorothy. She is entirely too insincere and too opportunistic. But I do admire her strength and her single-minded pursuit of authority and control. Her long sandy blonde hair frames her face and one bizarrely forked eyebrow is delicately raised as she casts a calculating eye over the cafeteria.

Dorothy is Mr Tanaki's representative here at the Chicago office. She is little more than a glorified personal assistant but she manages to wield an incredible amount of power and influence within the company. And she knows it.

She belongs to the top echelon of Tanaki Industries, she reports only to the company partners, but when it suits her, she mingles effortlessly with us lowly workers. But she is famous for playing both sides and for playing them against each other. She subtly manipulates the relationships she has with both the bosses and the workers and the result is that she has both groups wrapped around her little finger.

Most people are afraid or intimidated and nearly everyone hates her. But that little triumphant smile that lingers on her lips tells me that she enjoys it.

The only person she respects in this entire company is Relena, who is diplomatic and cooperative but steadfastly refuses to bow to Dorothy's cunning duplicity. And I think that deep down, Relena actually likes Dorothy, or rather enjoys the somewhat refreshing repartee that they regularly engage in; though she would never say so aloud, especially to anyone who might pass it on to the woman in question.

"Relena." Dorothy nods to Relena and smiles insincerely. She ignores me and I'm perfectly content with ignoring her.

"Dorothy," Relena replies courteously, laying down her cutlery.

The front office girls who are seated at the next table had all stopped talking the moment Dorothy condescended to seat herself in their general vicinity, but now they tentatively lean closer and whisper amongst themselves. A peel of giggles erupts from their huddled group.

Dorothy fixes them with a piercing stare and they wither visibly. "Either shut your mouths or I will shut them for you," she states silkily over her coffee cup.

The front office girls scuttle away nervously and Dorothy settles back looking satisfied. Behind her soft, manicured hands, Relena smiles. And I must confess, I'm impressed. I detest giggling and were I more inclined to be pro-active, I probably would have told them to shut up myself.

The lunch hour isn't over yet, but the sickly, pungent smell of cigarette smoke that cloaks Dorothy like a security blanket is drifting across the table and now I'm starting to feel nauseous. I push my chair away from the table and stand.

"You'll get those forms to me, won't you, Heero?" Relena's voice follows me across the cafeteria. I ignore her and continue walking. I don't need to look back to know that she's looking very disgruntled right now.

In the end, I send Relena's contracts back to her by inter-office courier; I simply can't be bothered dealing with her in person this afternoon.

I work late. Around me, people are turning off their computers, writing that last memo, filing that last account away, leaving for home relieved that the day and the week are finally over.

But I stay because really, there is nothing waiting for me in that apartment anyway. My office light is a single, solitary beacon in a dark building. Even the cleaners have packed up their vacuum cleaners and departed.

The red, iridescent numbers of my desk clock are flashing 9pm before I finally switch off my computer and make my way through the darkened maze of corridors to the exit.

I catch a taxi home. Normally I would catch the train because it's more economic. But tonight a desire for efficiency and speed overrides my monetary sensibilities.

The driver tries several times during the ride to engage me in conversation. After commenting on the weather, the football, the traffic and the song that is currently playing on the radio, and receiving no communication from me, he gives up and we ride the rest of the way in silence. I feel slightly guilty so when he pulls up at my building, I tip him generously as I exit the cab.

Earl, the doorman at my apartment complex, holds the heavy glass front doors open for me. By now he has learnt that I am not the sort of person who responds to any small-talk so he merely lets me through with a simple nod of welcome and a smile. Once upon a time, I would have ignored his considered admission but now I consciously make sure I at least acknowledge his gesture; it's part of my commitment to being more responsive and less anti-social.

I reach my apartment, flicking the lights on as I enter. I hang my coat on the rack and set my bag down on the table. The little red button on my answering machine is flashing merrily and Quatre's sunny voice fills the room when I press it. I listen to the message twice, memorising any important information and remind myself to call him back tomorrow.

I change out of my work clothes into something more casual, and then, grabbing my keys and wallet, I leave the apartment. It has taken all of seven minutes and Earl is visibly surprised when I appear in the lobby again so soon. I don't blame him really; I'm not exactly known as the sociable type.

"Going out, Mr Yuy?" he asks, in his surprise forgetting that I am not likely to answer. I merely nod and step through the open door out onto the street.

I take a deep breath, zip up my jacket and walk briskly back to that now familiar backstreet. The clenching of my teeth is the only hint of determination on my normally expressionless face. Tonight, I'm resolute that I will not fail my mission.

It's dark and eerie when I arrive. The street is no long lit up by the incandescent red glow of the Club X sign. I shove my hands into my pockets and stiffly make my way down the road.

A small group of girls is waiting on the sidewalk, leaning back against the grimy wall, exchanging stories in coarse voices.

They straighten up as I approach. Seductive smiles grace their faces and their hips sway as they totter down the footpath towards me.

A young blonde latches onto my right arm and smiles coyly up at me. A brunette appears at my left shoulder and tries fruitlessly to attract my attention. They can't be much older than 16.

I politely but firmly disentangle myself from their vice-like grips. They make a show of their false pouts and whimpers and I barely control the urge to roll my eyes. In the shadows, half a dozen pairs of eyes watch me curiously.

"I'm looking for someone who used to work around here," I announce to the group in a loud, clear voice. "His name was Duo. He had long hair tied back in a braid. Can anyone help me?"

There is silence up and down the street. No one moves. I set my shoulders firmly and wait. "I'm not leaving until one of you answers," I threaten.

Slowly, a woman steps out of the shadows. Her red stilettos click on the sidewalk as she approaches me warily. Her short, spiky hair is dyed blue and she has a suspicious glint in her jaded eyes. She's probably about my age, but years of hard work make her seem much older.

"What d'ya want with him?" she asks her voice rough and accusing. She runs her eyes up and down my form as she tries to assess me.

"Nothing. I'm not a cop or anything. I just need to talk to him," I say as gently as I can.

She cocks her head to the side and her eyes narrow. She doesn't trust me. And she probably has every reason not to.

"I really need to see him. Please, can you help me?" I try to let my eyes do the talking. For someone as normally emotionless as me, this is no mean feat. I try to look as desperate and hopeful as I feel and when something flickers in her cynical gaze I know I've succeeded.

"Yeah, I used to know him back when he worked this part of town," she says. Her left hand rests on her hip as she surveys me again. She's still a little wary.

"Do you know where he works now?" I ask patiently.

Her right hand sweeps through her short cropped hair and then moves lower to play with the chain around her neck. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It was a few years ago, yanno? I don't know if I can remember that far back." Her eyes challenge me. She's not wary anymore. She'll tell me what I want to know, but now she's being purely mercenary. Given my previous experience with opportunistic prostitutes, now I'm the slightly wary one. But deep inside, I know that I would give $50 to every single hooker in this city if that's what it took to find Duo.

I open my wallet and withdraw a crisp $50 note. "How is your memory now?" I ask as I press the money into her hand.

"Perfectly fine." She tucks the money into the waistband of her skirt. "He works over on Roly's patch." She gives me a wink and then turns away. My heart sinks.

"No, wait… please…" Something in my voice stops her.

"You're fucking serious about finding him, aren't you?" It's a rhetorical question but I nod anyway. "West 103rd," she says simply. "If he's workin' tonight, that's where he'll be."

I thank her but she brushes it away. She walks away down the street; her hips, encased in a tight red mini-skirt, sway with the movement. I watch her disappear into the distant gloom and then I turn away myself.

When I reach the main road, I hold out my hand and when the taxi pulls up beside me, I get in and give the driver my directions.

He stares at me when I give him the street. Evidently West 103rd is only known for one thing, and judging from the look on his face, he disapproves of it.

When we arrive ten minutes later, he leans over the back seat. "What's a nice, good-looking guy like you need in a neighbourhood like this?" His nasal twang indicates that he is not a native of Chicago. "You don't need those… those…" he struggles for the right word. "…things. You just need to find a nice girl and settle down."

Immediately I think of Relena. A nice girl I could settle down with. I think we've already established that I'm not interested in that whatsoever.

I ignore the cab-driver's unwelcome advice, pay him and then leave. He speeds away and I'm left alone on the dark street. I'm suddenly struck by the feeling that wandering around in this area on my own with a wallet full of cash is probably not a sensible thing to do. But I've come this far so I rub my cold hands together and start off down the street.

It's dark and smoky and as I walk down the narrow road it almost feels like it's pressing in on me; like the street is contracting and the tall buildings that stretch up to the sky on either side are closing around me. It's unnervingly claustrophobic and my pace quickens.

I feel the pumping of the heavy bass in my chest long before I draw close enough to hear the music. The clubs are depressing and sleazy. A drunken man hollers abuse at the bouncer who ejects him. He stumbles and pitches forwards into the gutter and then lies there mumbling to himself. The bouncer rolls his eyes and, heaving a heavy sigh, turns and re-enters the club.

I skirt around the man in the gutter who now seems caught between a decision to sit up or pass out. The loud, thumping music slowly fades into the background and suddenly I can see the outline of figures looming in the gloom ahead.

A dull grey sedan glides silently past me. It pulls up further down the street. A thin figure steps up to the curb and leans in the window.

Just as I'm drawing close enough to hear snippets of the conversation, the voices stop abruptly. The thin figure opens the door and is momentarily illuminated by the side-light. He is pale and skinny. His limbs are too long for his body, like he hasn't grown into them yet. I'm instantly reminded of my younger brother Shinji even though it has been some years since he outgrew that stage. And now I feel sick.

The boy, who is all of 14, clambers silently into the car and the door shuts with a click. I'm suddenly filled with the urge to rush forwards and retrieve the boy, as though saving him will make up for my failure to save Duo.

But the opportunity has passed. The engine revs and then the car is pulling away. I stand frozen on the sidewalk and watch as it disappears, with a puff of exhaust fumes, into the distance.

I shiver. Suddenly it feels much colder and I feel strangely dirty just being here, just witnessing that brief transaction. I find it odd that I never felt like that with Duo.

It takes me several moments to get my limbs functioning again. I've taken barely two steps when a second figure emerges from a side alley.

My heart stops. I can actually feel it skip a beat, and then suddenly it's racing as though it's trying to leap out of my chest.

It's just like my dream. A darkened street, an accidental meeting. Except that in my dream, I'm articulate and heroic. His arms fold around me and I sweep him off his feet and away to safety. But in reality, it's nothing like that. I can't even move. I just stand on the pavement, my heart going like the clappers, waiting for him to reach me.

He is about two metres away from me by the time he finally looks up. Those beautiful, expressive eyes widen as he recognises me. He freezes and for several moments we both just stare at each other.

He hasn't changed much. His body is still lithe and lean and he still moves with a mixture of entrancing grace and restless energy. That rope of hair still hangs down over one shoulder. His mouth, still slightly too big for his face and curved into an unreadable expression. And those eyes, still that same impossible colour, still impossibly deep and absorbing.

"Duo," I breathe. My voice is surprising loud and harsh in the silent night.

He blinks once and suddenly the image is broken and I realise he has changed. He is tenser and harder than I remember. He looks tired and depressed and hollow. But mainly it's his eyes. They no longer twinkle; they're hard and cold. It's like he's dead inside; it's like he has become what I used to be.

"Duo…" It's a whisper this time. I'm afraid to speak any louder, as though he might just fade away if I raise my voice.

His jaw clenches and his eyebrows snap together in anger. He takes two steps towards me and then stops abruptly as though he's afraid to get any closer. "What the fuck are you doing here?!?" he asks me. His voice is harsh and cold, so very different to the lively chatter I remember.

For a moment, I don't know how to answer him. What am I doing here? What on earth was I expecting? How could I possibly have assumed that my dream of him falling into my arms would ever, could ever come true?

"I…" My voice catches and I clear my throat. "I was transferred here. I've been living here for the past two months. I wanted to see you again. I wanted… I had to know that you were OK…" I trail off.

"OK?" He laughs, but it's a sickening sound… wild and unrestrained and laced with bitter pain. He stops suddenly. "You were supposed to forget about me. I'm nothing remember?" For a moment he looks like he's about to cry. But then the shutters close behind his eyes and I can't see anything. "Just go!" he says dully.

"No!" My voice is louder than I intended. "I just want to talk to you. I just…"

"Yeah, well I don't wanna talk to you, OK?" His shoulder turns away from me defensively.

"Duo…" I begin.

"Please, Heero… just go!" He refuses to meet my gaze but his voice cracks as he says my name and my heart feels like it's tearing in two.

I fumble for my wallet. He catches the movement and shakes his head as he screws his eyes shut. He thinks I'm going to offer him money again and I wince.

I withdraw my business card before shoving my wallet back into my pocket. I reach out and touch his shoulder gently. He jerks away as though I've burned him. I hold the tiny slip of cardboard out towards him. My arm hangs in the air between us like some kind of peace offering, like one final, desperate gesture.

"This is my card. It's got my phone number and my home and work address on it. Please take it!" My voice is higher now and I think that, for the first time in my life, I'm begging.

"I don't want it!" he says roughly. "Just go!"

My hand shakes and I take a step towards him. "Please, just take it. You don't have to call me or visit me or anything. But please… I just need to know that you have it…"

I can almost see the word 'no' forming on his lips. But he doesn't get the chance to say it. Two figures loom out of the darkness suddenly on either side of him. One is big. Easily 6'3", probably taller. His tight white t-shirt stretches across his bulging muscles and I can just make out the shadow of tattoos under the material. The other is smaller. Shorter than Duo and equally as thin. Although he is the physically inferior of the two, there is mean glint in his eyes that tells me he is probably the more dangerous one.

"Is this man bothering you, Duo?" the thin man asks. His voice is smooth and slimy and leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

"He was just leaving," Duo replies, but his eyes don't leave mine.

"You sure?" The big one presses.

"I'm fine. He's leaving. Just back off, guys, OK?" Duo's voice rises in irritation. The two interlopers cast one final gaze over me before disappearing slowly into the darkness again. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I can feel them still watching me.

"Duo, please… just take it." I make one final attempt.

His head swings around as he searches the darkness behind him. He clicks his tongue in exasperation. "Oh for fuck's sake, just give me the damn thing!" He snatches the card from my fingers. "Now, will you piss off?" He hisses at me.

I nod and I can't stop the little smile that creeps onto my face. He seems momentarily disarmed by my expression. He hesitates and his mouth quivers as though he is lost for words. "Good," he finally croaks, though there is very little emotion behind it.

"Promise me, you'll come and find me if you need anything. Anytime, day or night. Just promise me." My voice is urgent and I step forwards. We're close enough to touch now and I can almost feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

He starts to shake his head. "Promise me!" I plead.

He swallows heavily and he forces his gaze away from mine. And finally he nods. The relief I feel is palpable.

He opens his mouth to say something. "Duo," that same smooth, slimy voice oozes out of the darkness.

And that's when I hear it. The sound of a car approaching. The hum of the engine cuts through the eerie silence. It drifts slowly past us and then pulls into the curb a few metres down the road.

Duo winces and refuses to look at me. I feel a lump rising in my throat. I grasp his hand briefly and he is too surprised to pull away.

Those haunted eyes stare at our joined hands before lifting to meet my gaze. "Anytime," I reiterate.

He swallows and then so do I. There is a slow, hissing noise behind us as the car window glides down.

I release Duo's hand and step away. He hesitates for the briefest of moments and then he turns away and moves down the sidewalk to where the car is waiting.

My fists clench, my bottom lip trembles and I've got that funny itching feeling in the corners of my eyes again. I can't bear to watch. I turn away and start walking. Before I know it, I'm running. My leather shoes pound against the concrete as I flee.

I don't stop running until I reach my apartment building. I rush passed Earl without even stopping to acknowledge him. My feet thump on each step as I climb the stairs.

The apartment is dark when I enter but I make no move to turn on the lights. I close the door behind me. My heart is pounding in my chest, partly from having just run across half of Chicago and partly because I can still feel Duo's hand in mine.

I sink down onto the couch. The suede leather is soft beneath my fingers but I barely even register it. I don't move. I just sit in the darkness.

And I wait. Again.

**Author's Notes: And here we are again… at the end of another chapter. Just a quick note about Relena and Dorothy: I'm afraid they might be a little OCC, I'm not sure. But I'm tired of seeing pathetic, wimpy female characters in fanfiction and so I've aimed to make them a bit stronger and more assertive. Besides, I may not like Relena but I respect her enough not to turn her into a simpering, obsessed, be-pinked hussy. Let me know what you think. **

**A big THANK-YOU (I believe it warrants capital letters) to all my beautiful, wonderful reviewers. Speaking of which…I think you know what to do now… r-e-v-i-e-w! Simple. Please?**


	5. Part Two: Chapter Two

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Wow, this took me much longer to update than I had anticipated. But I do have an excuse. I was ambushed by a rather persistent plot bunny; it simply wouldn't leave me alone until I made a start on this new story, and I confess I got rather caught up in it. It's another 1x2 AU (I seem to have developed an affinity for them) so hopefully I'll be able to start uploading it soon, and hopefully you'll all enjoy it.**

**Anyway, here is the new chapter; I hope you like it. For some reason I hit a bit of a block whilst writing it. I think I'm over it now, but I'm still a little wary of this chapter anyway. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Part Two - Chapter Two

Duo:

You ever get that feeling that God's out to get you? I've got that right now. Just when my life seems to be going OK, just when I think I've got everything sorted, something comes hurtling out of the shadows and throws me for six.

That happened the night I met Heero. He came out of nowhere and completely bowled me over. And now he's done it again.

In that first moment that I saw him, I was so shocked I'm surprised my legs didn't give way beneath me. And then I was angry. Angry like you wouldn't believe.

You see, it took me a whole year to get over him last time. A whole fucking year! For months I couldn't work without feeling guilty, without feeling like I was betraying him.

I almost didn't make it. To be so close to something so good only to have to turn around and leave it all behind… it was devastating.

I used to blame Heero. I used to blame him for showing me a world I could never be a part of, for making my life seem so much worse. But now I accept that that's just the way it has to be. The world doesn't change. People like me don't change. We don't get the chance to change because we don't deserve it.

In the end, I moved on. I got over Heero because I had to. I wouldn't have survived if I hadn't. But in letting go of Heero, I let go of a part of myself, that little part of me that always hoped that things would get better. I had to sacrifice that in order to survive. I didn't want to, but I had to… you have to understand that.

I was cold. I didn't feel anything. It was better that way. Sure, there was no happiness or joy or pleasure, but that didn't matter. So long as I wasn't feeling all the pain and misery and loneliness, everything was OK. Just.

Until Heero came back. And suddenly now I'm feeling so many different things it feels like my body is just going to implode in on itself.

He smiled at me, you know? Just a tiny little one, but it took me back to that night and suddenly something flickered inside of me… something I haven't felt for five long years.

It's such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling that it's impossible to describe. But it's dangerous, too. Dangerous because it threatens to consume me. I barely survived the last time Heero entered my life, I don't think I'd make it through again.

So why do I feel like that doesn't matter? That I would willingly risk everything just to spent one more minute in his company?

It doesn't make any sense! I'm so fucking confused! All these words, all these thoughts… they're just swirling around in my head, mocking me, confusing me. And it's all bullshit. In the end, they don't mean anything. They're just a random outpouring of nothing. OK, now it really does feel like my head is going to implode. Too much thinking, too much feeling.

I've started carrying his watch around with me again. I don't know why. I used to carry it around after that night we spent together. I couldn't bear to leave the house without it.

One night, this guy tried to mug me. I let him press me up again the wall, knife to my throat; I let him search my pockets in the hope that he'd take the money I had and leave me alone. But he found the watch and, I don't know, seeing his dirty, stubby little fingers wrapped around Heero's watch… I felt sick and then angry. I fought back, catching him off-guard, and I just went crazy… laid into him like I was possessed. I probably would have killed him too. But then he dropped the watch. It fell to the concrete with a tinkle, shining gold amongst all the dirt. And I stopped. I grabbed it and ran.

After that night, I never took it out with me again. I couldn't bear to risk losing it again. I'd carry it around with me when I was at home, but every night before I left to work, I'd hide it under the floor boards by my bed.

But now for some reason, since seeing him again, I've gone back to that stage where I can't leave the house without it. It's risky, I know, but the weight of it is strangely reassuring, like he's here with me.

But tonight, it's not the watch I'm particularly aware of. It's the business card in my other pocket. It's burning a hole right through my tight denim shorts. It's cold tonight; the wind is picking up and the air is damp, like it's going to rain, but I swear I can feel the heat in my pocket, like that little scrap of cardboard is somehow alight. It's painful and yet comforting. I don't get it. But then I don't really get most things to do with Heero… it's all so bloody contradictory.

My fingers creep into my pocket and it's not until I feel the smooth paper beneath my fingertips that I even realise what I'm doing. Slowly I take it out. It's so very white and clean in the darkness.

Heero Yuy, the black swirling letters proclaim. Yuy. I didn't know that was his last name. I read his home address. It's not familiar. I've probably never been in that part of town. I'm not even sure I know how to get there.

But I recognise Tanaki Industries. The Tanaki Building is one of the tallest in Chicago. Sometimes when I get home from work in the early hours of the morning, I'll sit on the roof of my apartment building. Across the city, I can see the Tanaki Building; it towers above the heart of the CBD, the neon sign on the side proudly proclaiming its name, and winks at me in the early morning gloom. It sort of fits that Heero would work in a place like that, a place so removed from my own world.

I turn the card restlessly over and over in my hands as though I'm afraid it will burn me if I let the movement still.

For some inexplicable reason my heart is racing now. This is so pathetic. I see Heero for five fucking minutes and suddenly I can't think of anything else. Suddenly my heart is racing because I'm touching something he once held in his hand.

_Anytime_… his voice echoes in my head and I can almost feel the sensation of his hand in mine again.

Deep inside me, a tiny part of my mind is jumping up and down, screaming "Go to him, you fucking fool! You know you want to!" I thought that part of me was long since dead and buried. Apparently not. But what am I supposed to do about it? How do I shut it up again? Do I _want_ to shut it up again?

I already know the answer to that question, but I'm too afraid to admit it out aloud.

"Duo?" Smokey's oily voice cuts through the chilly darkness.

I start at the sound and that's when I remember where I am as reality comes flooding back to me. It's Sunday night, two nights since Heero's unexpected reappearance, and I'm standing on the sidewalk in the dark waiting for the next punter that crosses my path. Hastily, I shove the card back into my pocket. I don't want Smokey to see it. I don't want him to know about Heero.

"Duo, you OK?" the voice asks again. I look up just as Smokey materialises out of the darkness beside me. I hate it when he does that; it's creepy and unsettling. The tip of his ever-present cigarette glows red in the gloom as he inhales. For a split second I actually believe he cares when he asks if I'm alright, but then I spot the cold, disinterested glint in his dull brown eyes and I remember that he doesn't.

"Yeah, you look kinda off tonight," Joe confirms as he appears behind his companion.

"Gee, thanks guys, that's what I really need to hear right now," I mutter acerbically.

"Yeah, well we ain't paid to make people feel good. That's your line of work," Smokey retorts between drags.

Even thought it's true, Smokey's comment still cuts through me like a hot knife through butter. I feel sick and I can almost taste the bile rising in my throat.

Smokey and Joe have somehow become an integral part of my life. And strange as it might sound, I'm actually glad. Not because they're good people or because I enjoy their company (because they're not and I don't) but because I feel safe with them, or rather, safer. A feeling I haven't felt since that night in Heero's hotel room.

The way I work has changed dramatically in the last five years. After I left Heero I embarked on a rather spectacular downward spiral. I was being ripped off and roughed up left, right and centre. I had simply lost the strength and the will to fight back.

Enter Roly. I was once told that Roly got his nickname because he looks like a roly-poly pudding. And to look at him, it's certainly a very plausible explanation. But I've never had the guts to ask him outright for confirmation.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Roly offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. A deal I'd be crazy to refuse: protection in return for a cut of my earnings.

At first I hated the thought of having a partner in my so-called business. He represented a permanent tie to the sleazy, dirty world of hustling, a tie I'd never be able to escape. But like I said, it was an offer I couldn't refuse despite all my pitiful misgivings.

I should probably clarify something. Roly isn't, nor will he ever be, a pimp. He's not interested in facilitating the connection between horny pervert and whore. He's in the security business (at least, that's what he calls it). I believe that at some point, he did actually run a legitimate security business. And then he realised that he could make more money faster by capitalising on the need for protection on the prostitution circuit. He's not the only guy in this city who runs a 'goons-for-hire' style business, but he's definitely the most reputable.

His patch is strictly invitation only, and I'm lucky to be working here rather than the district I used to hang out in. I can turn over more tricks a night and the punters are generally more reliable and pay better. I don't actually make any more money than I used to, that extra cut goes to Roly, but I'm a hell of a lot safer. The fact that I haven't been raped or robbed for some time is testament to that.

And take it from me, it's definitely worth putting up with Smokey and Joe's company if it means I'm relatively safe from the sick and twisted brand of pervert.

So that brings me to my two security shadows. Smokey is small and thin; weedy one might even say. But I've seen him action, and believe me, he is anything but weak. I don't know how someone his size manages to wield such strength; I've seen him take down a guy with one blow… broke his collarbone and his nose with one hit. He's quick and clever and he takes advantage of the fact that most people underestimate him. He's also a little bit mad (and by that, I mean completely and utterly fucking psycho).

Someone once told me that Smokey was there to keep the punters in line and Joe was there to keep Smokey in line. I'd say that was a pretty good estimation of the situation.

Joe is the opposite of Smokey; he's big and heavy and packs one hell of a punch, but he's mainly for show, I think. People take one look at him and scarper. He seems to be the only one who can control Smokey.

I remember once when I'd just started working with them and this guy was roughing me up, trying to get something for nothing, if you catch my drift. Smokey appears out of nowhere and just starts beating the fucking crap out of this guy. I almost felt sorry for him. Nah, that's a lie, he got what he deserved.

Anyway, Smokey is about five seconds away from killing this guy when Joe arrives. He puts one hand on Smokey's shoulder and says "I think he's done," as though he's merely commenting on a batch of cupcakes, and Smokey just stops, like some switch has been flicked in his brain. I'll never forget that. I was scared shitless and eternally grateful at the same time. Weird combination.

Since then, I've come to appreciate having them around. Although that said, I doubt I'd miss them if I ever managed to get out of this shithole.

I suddenly realise that one of them is talking again. I manage to drag myself out of my thoughts in time to hear Joe's comment. "Fuck, it's cold tonight, ain't it?" He's waiting for Smokey's confirmation, as though it's only cold if Smokey agrees that it is.

But he's right, it is cold… colder than it usually is at this time of year. I predict that it's going to be a long, depressing and freezing winter.

Smokey lights a new cigarette with the butt of his old one and takes a deep drag. Smoke streams out of his nostrils, swirling around his head in thick grey tendrils.

"Yeah, fucking cold," he confirms eventually.

Suddenly the bile is rising in my throat again and I feel sick. Sick of my life, sick of Smokey and Joe, sick of the cold, sick to death of everything.

My hand slides into my pocket, ghosting over the embossed writing on Heero's card. I stare down at the pavement as my fingers gently caressing the smooth cardboard. What harm would it do to just take one night off from my miserable life? Just one night.

The smart, logical part of my brain is telling me that one night with Heero will make every other night after it even worse, but it's still so very tempting. I can almost feel myself falling.

Joe catches me just as I start to pitch forwards. He straightens me up and claps me on the shoulder. The force of his gesture almost sends me careering forwards again.

"You OK, kid?" he asks, bending down to stare into my face.

In my head, I can feel the words 'I'm fine, Joe,' forming, but what actually comes out of my mouth is a whispered, "No."

Joe murmurs something and looks vaguely torn. He turns to Smokey for guidance. "He does look kinda crook, Smoke," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

Smokey steps closer to me, carelessly blowing smoke in my face as he surveys me. I resist the urge to cough.

"Hmmm, yeah." He takes another long drag and then stubs out his cigarette butt on the wall behind me. "It's cold and there ain't much happening tonight anyway. Why don't we call it quits? Roly don't need to know," Smokey suggest, lighting up again and turning from me to Joe and back again.

I nod gratefully and out of the corner of my eye I can see Joe grinning. "Great! Mystique is stripping at the Club at 12; I'll just make it in time!"

Smokey rolls his eyes and then he nods to me. "Go home, kid," he says and then turns away and starts walking away down the street.

"Night, Duo." Joe winks at me and then stride away after Smokey. I stand in the darkness, surrounded by Smokey's lingering cigarette smoke, and watch them disappear.

My hand wrap around the card, drawing it out into the open once more. I look down at it, so white against my slightly grubby skin. Slowly I slide my other hand in my pocket and take out the watch. I stare from one to the other and my heart is racing again; I can feel the blood roaring in my ears, mingling with the rapid thumping of my heart beat.

As I slowly make my way down the street, my fingers curl around my precious cargo, the two tenuous links I have to Heero.

When I reach the end, I pause on the sidewalk and look right and then left. Left takes me home to my dirty, damp, dark, miserable excuse for home; right takes me to Heero. I hesitate and then I take a deep breath and turn right.

It takes me forty-five minutes to find Heero's apartment building. I spent twenty minutes alone wandering around the same block trying to figure out where the hell I was. For someone who has lived in Chicago all his life, I really know fuck all about this city. But then Heero does live in a pretty respectable, classy neighbourhood, so it's not exactly surprising that I don't know my way around the area.

I've been standing outside the building for the past ten minutes trying to work up the courage to go in. Walking over that threshold is such a simple action and yet I've blown it out of all proportion so that now it feels like this is the biggest defining moment of my life. And who knows? Maybe it is.

Slowly I step off the curb and cross the road. As I draw closer I realise there is a doorman sitting on the other side of the solid glass doors; he's probably been watching me ever since I arrived.

I hesitate, shuffling from one foot to the other, nervously. My stomach is churning as I step forwards and grasp the heavy brass doorhandles and push.

The doorman rises slowly from his seat, taking the weight of the door. He steps forwards, effectively blocking my entrance. His dark eyes survey me suspiciously and his lip curls slightly.

"I'm sorry. I can't let you through if you ain't on my list." His voice is low and gravelly, catching slightly in the back of his throat.

I swallow. "You haven't even checked yet. How do you know I'm not on your list?" I say evenly.

He raises one eyebrow doubtfully as he casts his gaze over my outfit. He frowns but I refuse to back down. We stare at each other for several minutes. I find myself wishing that I had the force of Heero's glare; that'd certainly get the old man to back off.

Eventually he clears his throat and breaks eye-contact. He reaches behind him and his ageing hands find his precious list. "What's your name, then?" he asks still frowning. I wonder if that frown is ever-present or whether he's just brought it out in my honour.

"Duo Maxwell," I reply, trying to sound confident.

His eyes flicker down the list. A tiny smile spreads across his face. "You aren't on my list," he says, sounding vindicated.

My stomach stops churning and drops down around my knees. It hadn't occurred to me that I might not be able to get in once I got here. Maybe Heero changed his mind or maybe he was just playing with me. Poor gullible little Duo… actually thought someone cared about him.

I shake my head fiercely. I refuse to think those thoughts. I remember Heero, I know Heero, and he's not like that.

"Please, I need to get in. I'm a… a friend of Heero Yuy's. He gave me his card, see?" I wave the evidence in front of the elderly face. "Please, I need to see him. I know I'm not on the list, but can't you please let me in?" I'm begging. I'm actually begging, and completely shamelessly too. I'm suddenly very desperate. Having come all this way, I can't bear the thought of having to go back without seeing Heero. "Please?"

The old man sighs and stares at the card in my hand. "A friend of Mr Yuy's, you say?" I nod wildly. "Hmmm, I think he mentioned something about a friend coming. Didn't say when though. Said I'd recognise you by your hair…" He pauses and runs his eyes over me.

My heart leaps. Recognisable hair I can do. No one in this city has hair more recognisable than mine. I reach behind me and pull my braid out from under my jacket. It falls heavily down over one shoulder.

The doorman follows the movement with his eyes and finally he nods. "Mr Yuy is on the nineteenth floor."

I breathe heavily in relief and cast the doorman a grateful smile. It's been a long time since I smiled for real. It feels strange as the corners of my mouth turn upwards… but it's a welcome feeling.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, nodding as the doorman steps back to let me pass.

"Hmmm," the doorman mumbles as he lets the door swing shut again and takes his seat. "Next time, make sure you're on the list," he warns me.

I nod expressively, wondering if there will ever be a next time. I can feel his eyes on my back as I wait for the elevator. It's a relief when the steel doors glide effortlessly shut and I'm born upwards.

I pause in the nineteenth floor corridor. Suddenly I'm feeling like this isn't such a good idea. I stare down at Heero's watch. It's nearly 1am. God, what am I doing here? As if Heero wants to see me in the middle of the fucking night.

He did say anytime, a little niggling voice whispers in the back of my mind.

I stumble slightly as I follow the path of the plush red carpets down the hallway. When I arrive outside No. 19-01, I waver and take a long slow breath. My heart is rattling away in my chest like a runaway train.

I lift my hand to knock and that's when I realise than I'm shaking. I don't know whether I'm scared or nervous or excited or some crippling combination of all three.

I grit my teeth, close my eyes and my knuckles connect with solid wood as a hollow knocking sounds echoes around me.

Several agonising minutes pass and I'm greeted by nothing but silence. I open my eyes again, sighing heavily. I sway slightly from side-to-side as I try to decide whether to knock again or whether I should just take this as a sign and leave.

Just as I make up my mind and turn to go, I hear a faint shuffling on the other side of the door, like bare feet on carpet.

My heart seems to be lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat as I wait with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.

Finally there is the sound of a bolt being drawn and a doorknob being turned. And then the door is swinging open and there he is.

His lips part and his eyes widen in surprise as he looks up and sees me. He swallows and I follow the movement of his adam's apple with my eyes.

He's wearing a faded pair of jeans and no shirt. My gaze crawls across the smooth, sculpted expanse of chest before me. He's broader than he was five years ago, but not bulky, just well-defined. One hand is still resting on the doorknob and the other is hanging by his side, fingers wrapped around a sheaf of papers.

On the way here, I had pretty much worked out what I wanted to say when I got here. I had it all figured out but now, face to face with Heero again, I can barely remember my own name let alone a bunch of nervous explanations.

For what feels like eternity, we just stare at each other, neither making any move to cross the threshold. When I finally open my mouth to speak nothing comes out and I'm left mouthing gormlessly as I try to get my brain to function again.

Eventually he seems to snap out of his stupor. He swallows again. "Duo?" he whispers, questioning, disbelieving, hopeful.

His hoarse whisper jolts me in to action. I'm nervous and, though I hate to admit it, scared. My voice is quivering slightly as I manage to finally force some sound passed my lips.

"Yeah." That's it? That's all the sterling conversation I can come up with? Yeah?

I shake my head. "I was just… working… and it was cold and I just… I wanted… You said anytime, so I thought…" My stuttering is practicably undecipherable but I plough on; once I've started with the nervous babbling I find it very hard to stop. "I'm sorry. It's late… I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, I'll just go." I turn away, painfully aware of my face burning red with embarrassment.

My movement seems to galvanise him into action and he reaches out to grab my arm. He steps forward as his fingers find the cuff of my shirt and I reflexively step back at his plaintive tug. When I turn back, he's suddenly so much closer. Our chests are almost touching and I can feel his breath on my face, ruffling my bangs.

I'm uncomfortably aware of the fact that he's bare from the waist up and suddenly I'm overcome by an overwhelming desire to just lean forwards and fall into his arms. But I don't. Instead I manage to drag my eyes up to meet his. Deep blue. After all these years, that is still the only way I can think of describing them.

He clears his throat awkwardly and steps back. I almost moan at the loss of his warmth. He swings the door further open and moves backwards to let me pass. He doesn't speak but at his tiny, gentle nod of invitation, I cross the threshold into the apartment.

I step into a cosy living-room. It's neat and clean and yet strangely welcoming. Gleaming wooden floorboards are partially covered by a plush rug, and black suede couches and curtains contrast and frame the clean white walls. A long white tapestry hangs on the wall above the TV. Graceful, delicate black Japanese lettering runs down the centre, elegant brushstroke flowing into elegant brushstroke. On the far wall, a fake fireplace is flickering with imaginary flames. The vents below are blowing warm air across the room; the heat kisses my cold face and the relief is instantaneous. On the mantle above the fireplace a series of photographs are lit up by the spotlight overhead.

The room seamlessly melds into an informal dinning room. Heero's laptop is set up on the dark, carved timber table, surrounded by clean white sheets of paper. Through the far doorway, I can see white kitchen cupboards with dark shiny handles gleaming under glowing lights.

Everything is a perfect blend of dark and light, contrasting and complimenting. It's very simple and yet, completely and utterly elegant and classy. I feel like I should feel out of place in this world of clean, matching, stylish furniture, but I don't. I feel inexplicably, bizarrely at home.

Behind me, Heero closes the door with a click. He shuffles past me; long legs move effortlessly inside their denim casing. I find my eyes lingering on his arse and I have to consciously pull my gaze upwards. He sets his papers down on the table and then turns back to me.

It's more awkward than our first time. Neither of us really knows what to say, where to go from here.

"I really am sorry about the lateness," I say eventually, desperate to break the oppressive silence between us.

"It's fine. I was up anyway," he replies, waving those long pianist fingers casually.

"Working?" I ask, although it's fairly clear from the laptop that that's what he was doing.

"Hai," he nods briefly, his gaze dropping to the computer and then back up to me.

"It's the weekend," I say, rather redundantly. Inside, I mentally curse myself for sounding like a complete idiot.

"I know. But I didn't have anything else to do." He wavers and stares down at the smooth floorboards. "Actually, I went into the office this morning to get something to work on," he confesses after a minute. He looks across at me sheepishly, a tiny, half smile gracing his lips.

And suddenly I find myself grinning. "Workaholic, huh? That figures," I say and for the first time in too long a chuckle rolls of my lips and hangs in the air like a long-forgotten melody.

He laughs as well and the sound causes shivers down my spine. "I'm hopeless, I know," he says, shaking his head.

Our eyes meet across the room and suddenly all the oppressive, awkward tension evaporates. Some strange, inexplicable silent mutual decision has passed between us and we relax; suddenly if feels like I'm 17 again and we're standing in Heero's hotel room, enthralled by the mere presence of the other.

His smile widens and then so does mine. Our nervousness is almost ridiculous, and yet strangely endearing as well.

"Can I get you a drink or anything?" he asks. "Or a shower?" He shrugs uncertainly.

I grin. "Yeah, a shower would be good. Plus I'd hate to break with tradition," I reply flippantly, although my insides are currently turning to mush under his warm gaze.

"Sure," he smiles at me again but doesn't move. I hesitate and then he shakes his head. "Oh, right. Um… it's through here. Clean towels are behind the door and shampoo and everything is on the shelf," he says, as he crosses the room and opens a door to reveal a gleaming white bathroom. "The door to the right leads into my bedroom. I'll leave some clothes on the bed for you."

I follow him across the room, pausing behind him to peer over his shoulder. My heart rate quickens… it would be so easy to rest my chin on that bare shoulder. He turns slightly as I squeeze past him. Our hands brush gently and I'm fairly sure I'm blushing. My fingers twine around his. I can't look at him. I might just start to break if I do.

"Thanks, Heero," I manage to utter.

"Like I said, anytime." His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it stays with me, echoing through my ears, even after I've closed the door and the rushing water drums down around me.

I spend a good forty-five minutes relaxing under the steadily beating water. It's only when the hot water starts to wane that I realise where I am and hastily reach for the taps. I feel slightly guilty about consuming Heero's time and hot water so thoughtlessly but at the time it felt like I was cemented in place by the hot torrent of water. I could practically feel the dirt and grime being washed from my body and then the water penetrated even further, cleansing and replenishing whatever is left of my soul. God, that sounds stupid, but I swear that's what it was like.

Heero's bedroom is dark and still when I enter from the bathroom. I fumble around, groping for the light switch and when I find it, the room is suddenly lit up by a soft warm glow.

Heero's bedroom is neat. Really neat. And clean. There are no clothes left lying haphazardly on the floor just in case he feels like wearing them again. There are no pillows flung across the room in the direction of an incessant alarm clock. The covers haven't been dragged halfway across the room in a morning, sleep-addled haze.

Everything is in its proper place. The covers are neatly arranged over severely folded hospital corners and the pillows are piled tidily against the head board. A tall bookshelf in the corner is orderly stacked with books, filed alphabetically by author and genre and an equally organised dressing table stands beside it, the bare essentials neatly arranged in front of the mirror.

I hesitate but then I drop my clothes on the floor beside the door, instantly leaving my mark on this obsessively organised sanctuary.

There are only two items in this room that reflect the man who occupies it every night. The first is a large framed print by some famous artist, hanging in pride of place on the far wall. I creep closer. "Van Gogh, _Starry Night_," I read off the label at the bottom. I follow the confident brushstrokes with my eyes as the vibrant blues and yellows blend and swirl around each other as the represented stars twinkle above the city below.

I step back to look at the whole picture. At first I'm not really sure I like it. I'm not sure I really get it. But then it starts to grow on me. It's beautiful and ugly, calming and unsettling all at once. I don't think I really expected Heero to be into shit like this; another element to the complexity that is Heero Yuy, I guess. I kinda like that. Nothing is more boring that something simple and explainable at first glance; I like people that you have to work to understand.

The second is a single framed photo sitting on top of the chest of drawers. I shuffle closer, stopping just inches away. I recognise the faces instantly, even though I've never met two of them, merely glanced at them for the briefest of moments many years ago.

A shorter blonde man is standing in the centre. He's laughing at something I can't see, leaning on the man beside him for support. This must be Quatre. I try to recall the words Heero used to describe him. _Loyal, kind, gentle and yet tougher than you would ever think to look at him_. That's right. And I can kind of see that through this picture. He looks like the sort of person I would like… someone I could be friends with. I smile unconsciously.

The face beside him is less inviting but perhaps more intriguing. He's all sharp, angular lines and his black hair is severely pulled back. Dark eyes are twinkling with a mixture of disapproval and amusement as he looks down at the blonde leaning into him. Wufei. _Stern, intelligent, passionate and honourable_. He looks almost scary at first, but I peer closer and I can see the shadow of a smile on his lips as he tries not to laugh out loud. I'm not entirely convinced he's the sort of person I would naturally warm to, but he seems interesting.

And the last face, on Quatre's other side is instantly familiar. It's a face I've seen many times in my dreams, a face that has always been with me despite many attempts to forget it. At first glance, Heero looks stern and blank but then I see the slight upwards turn of the corners of his mouth. He is turned slightly inwards, leaning towards Quatre protectively but his gaze stares straight head, almost penetrating through the glass that separates us. It feels like those deep blue, icy eyes are fixed specifically on me; the kind of eyes that follow you around the room.

Out of the blue, I shiver violently. Someone's walking over my grave, as Sister Helen used to say.

I shake my head to dispel the uncomfortable sensation and, turning away, I let the towel drop from around my waist and reach for the clothes Heero has laid out for me. Same deal as last time. Sweat pants and a t-shirt. I'm pleased to realise that the pants aren't as long on me as they were five years ago. Proof that I have managed to grow, at least a little bit. But the t-shirt is still too big. Not surprising really, considering how broad Heero's shoulders are now.

The clothes are warm and comfortable and they smell like Heero. It's like I can feel him all around me, almost like he's hugging me. Damn, now I'm just sounding pathetic.

Automatically, I reach down and my fingers search through the bundle of clothes I had dropped to the floor. When I find Heero's watch I slip it into my pocket. I don't even know why, but somehow I just feel better having its weight with me.

I stride across the room and brush my hair perfunctory, weaving my fingers through the long mane and curling it into my usual braid.

I pause to look at myself in the mirror. I seem so much older. My face looks tired and slightly worn. Fuck, I'm only 22 for God's sake!

I continue to stare at my reflection, running my gaze slowly over each feature, over each line, each mark. What really strike me are my eyes. And then I suddenly realise that what I'm seeing is not all depressing. I'm used to seeing nothing but emptiness swirling behind them, feeling nothing but emptiness. But now I fancy I catch a glimmer of the spark I used to have. It figures that Heero would be the only one who could reignite it. Damn cruel irony.

I sigh but it doesn't feel as heavy as it perhaps could have been and that's probably a good sign. So I turn away from my perplexing reflection and go back into the living room to where Heero is waiting.

He has put on a shirt while I was in the shower and I find myself strangely disappointed. But the top button is undone and I can still see a sliver of bare chest.

He's sitting at the dining room table his eyes focused on the computer before him, but he looks up as I enter. "Better?" he asks.

"Man, you have no idea. I feel almost human. Good feeling," I joke, a tiny smile breaking across my face.

"I'm glad." He smiles at me and suddenly there are butterflies swirling around in my stomach like a herd of wild, rampaging elephants. "Have a seat." He nods towards one of the couches, folding his laptop away and swivelling in his chair to follow my movement as I cross the room to sit down.

I sink down into the soft suede leather, my body instinctively relaxing, layers of tension falling away.

"Would you like a drink or something? Tea, coffee, water, beer? Anything?" he asks, standing awkwardly to the left of my vision.

"I don't suppose you've got any cocoa in that kitchen of yours?" I ask. I'm fairly sure there is a goofy, childlike expression of hope on my face.

"I think I could probably manage that," he says and disappears through the doorway into the kitchen beyond.

I close my eyes and listen to the calming, reassuring sounds of Heero moving about in the next room; the sound of drawers being opened, the kettle being filled, a spoon swirling around a china cup.

I'm half asleep by the time he returns, steaming mug in hand. He sets it down on the coffee table and rests his hand on my knee, shaking gently.

My eyes fly open and the first thing I see are those eyes, staring down at me, staring through me. Slowly I register the warmth of his hand seeping through my sweatpants. I sit up suddenly with a jolt and his pulls his hand away sharply.

We stare at each for several moments, each confused. Then he shakes his head and clears his throat. "There's your hot chocolate," he says, half whispering, as he sits down beside me. I can feel his warmth creeping across the couch towards me and I can almost feel the weight of his hand on my knee again. I curse myself internally for scaring him off.

I pull the mug towards me; it's hot and comforting in my hands and the steam drifts upwards, the scent of chocolate swirling around my nose. I breathe deeply in contentment.

We sit together in silence while I gulp down the almost scalding cocoa. Sister Katherine's voice echoes in my mind, long-forgotten words suddenly resurfacing… _Don't rush it Duo! You'll burn your tongue!_

I don't realise I'm smiling until I hear Heero's voice, "Why are you smiling?"

"Just remembering something someone once told me," I say, tucking my legs underneath me and turning slightly so I can see Heero without having to crane my neck.

He nods but doesn't reply. We lapse into silence again.

Just as I'm setting my now empty cup down on the table, Heero breaks the silence once more. "Why did you come here? What made you change your mind?"

Damn, I was hoping he wouldn't ask. "I dunno. It was so cold… and I was just… sick of it all, I guess. Wanted to see a friendly face," I smile to myself and stare down at my hands.

"I'm glad you came." Heero's words wrap around me like a warm blanket.

"Yeah, me too. Sure beats standing on a street corner with Smokey and Joe," I laugh even though it's true.

"Smokey and Joe? The two guys with you on Friday night?" Heero asks.

"Yeah, they kinda… watch out for me. For a price. Roly pays them to watch over me and in return he gets a cut of my earnings." I suddenly realise I don't want to be talking about this shit with Heero. I came here to forget about it all. "It's complicated and all. Anyway, forget it, you don't wanna know, trust me."

"I do," he says quietly. "I do trust you."

That catches me off guard. I don't think anyone has ever said that to me before. "You shouldn't," I tell him.

"Probably, but I still do," he replies simply.

I'm confused now. "But… why? I stole from you. I took your money and your watch and I left. You have no reason to trust me. You have no reason to want to see me again."

"I don't care about that." He waves his hand casually. "And I don't need a reason to want to see you again." He makes it sound so simple when he says it like that. And the look on his face leaves no room for argument.

"Yeah, well, thanks, I think." And then I laugh, a real laugh, loud and unrestrained and unusually joyful. I don't even know why I'm laughing. It's ridiculous. Heero just watches me, a tiny, amused smile playing on his lips.

When I finally calm down, I turn around to face him properly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about stealing from you," I say sincerely. As soon as I've said it, it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I've been waiting five years to say that.

"Forget it; it doesn't matter now," he says, emphatically.

I reach into my pocket and pull his watch out; it shines golden in the glowing orange light from the mock fire. I hold it out to him. "Here, you can have it. Have it back, I mean. It's yours, after all." I'm pretty sure I'm blushing as I sit there with my hand stretch out to him, waiting for him to take it.

He looks momentarily shocked as he stares down at it. "I expected you to sell it," he says as he meets my eyes again.

"I meant to. Even got as far as the pawnbrokers… but then, I just couldn't. Here, take it."

Heero looks down at the shimmering gold lying flat in my palm and then back up at me. Slowly he reaches out and curls my fingers back around the watch. "No, you keep it."

"But it's yours," I protest.

"I don't need it. I want you to have it."

This is ridiculous! He's giving me a watch I originally stole from him. "Heero…" I begin but he cuts me off with a look and I meekly put it back into my pocket. "Thanks," I say quietly, surprised by how glad I am that it's still in my possession.

"Anytime," he says with a smile, relaxing back into the couch.

"So, what kinda work do you do?" I ask, settling back, desperate to shift the focus of our conversation to matters less depressing.

"I'm a computer engineer," he says.

"Still obsessed with your computer, then?" I joke.

"Yes, but I haven't married it yet, so I don't think I'm completely lost," he jokes back. I'm sort of surprised by the fact that he's grown a sense of humour in the years since I last saw him. But I'm pretty sure I like this new development.

"You've changed." Oops, did I say that aloud? Obviously I did because Heero regards me for a moment and then nods.

"Yes, I suppose I have. For the better, I'd like to think." We both pause to think about this. "You've changed as well," he says quietly after a minute or two.

This momentarily floors me even though I know exactly what he's talking about. "Not for the better, but," I whisper, staring down at the soft leather of the couch.

"I wouldn't say that."

My head snaps up as he speaks. I want to ask what he means by that, but I'm too scared. So in the end, I just cast him a wan smile.

He smiles back at me. The butterflies are back and now they're trying to dive-bomb my insides. It's a strange feeling. I kinda like it. I kinda like that Heero can make me feel like this.

But it's scary too because I'm suddenly overcome by the urge to ask him to hold me. Would he if I asked? What would it feel like to have his arms wrapped around me?

I want to know. More than anything in this world, I want to know what that one simple little sensation feels like.

But I don't ask. I don't let myself. I refuse to be some pathetic maiden in distress. I've lasted 22 years without feeling Heero's arms around me, I'll live without feeling it now.

Won't I?

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**Author's Notes: So, there we are. Feel free to review, I honestly wouldn't mind if you did.**

**On an unrelated note… is it sad that I've changed my brand of washing powder from Omomatic to DUO purely because the new brand appealed to my ever-so-slight 1x2x1 obsession? Hmmm, probably.**

**Oh, and a huge THANK-YOU to all my beautiful reviewers. I truly do appreciate your comments. And special thanks have to go to Memeal for making me blush and then making me laugh. Cheers.**


	6. Part Two: Chapter Three

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Argh! I'm ticked off! Excuse me while I vent. I've just returned from my WWII history lecture where I had the extreme displeasure of the company of a particularly nasty breed of asshole (pardon my French). He spent the entire hour telling the rest of us that Hitler was wrong about the Holocaust but that he did have a point about "locking up all those queers". Hmmmm, excuse me while I hit you over the head with my trusty spade, you arrogant bigot! Grrrrr.  
****Ahem… clears throat Sorry about that, just had to get it off my chest (It's amazing the human capacity for hatred and intolerance. Scary, too). Right, so back to the story then? Wow, you guys better feel special that I'm putting this chapter up so quick after the last one. I've had a fit of… what's the opposite of writer's block? Non-writer's block, I suppose… anyway I've had a fit of that and this is the result. I think the fact that I have two essays I should be writing is probably what inspired my bout of enthusiastic fanfic writing (watch the master procrastinator at work), but hey, who's complaining?**

**Anyway, enough dallying, let's just get on with the bloody story, shall we? Hope you enjoy and, of course, please review if you get the urge.**

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Part Two – Chapter Three:

Heero

There is an uncomfortable crick in my neck, partly from tension and partly from the awkward position I find myself in.

I'm sprawled across the couch; one leg is draped over the arm rest and the other is dangling over the side, my bare foot just brushing against the rug. My head has fallen to the right during my sleep and is now hanging rather painfully off the side of the couch. I feel somewhat like an abandoned rag-doll.

Waking to find myself inelegantly adorning the sofa is not an uncommon event in my life. I'm ashamed to say that I probably spend at least half my nights on the couch having fallen asleep whilst working.

However, even in my bleary-eyed state, I'm instinctively aware that work is not the reason I find myself sleeping out here on this particular morning. It takes me less than a second to remember why I'm not sleeping in my own bed… less than a second to remember that the most beautiful thing I've ever seen is currently occupying said bed… less than a second to realise that I would give anything to be sleeping beside him right now.

Duo fell asleep about an hour after he'd emerged from his shower. We'd been talking about my work; he seemed interested, although I'm not entirely sure whether it was genuine curiosity or merely a desire to shift the focus of discussion away from himself… either way I was happy to oblige.

His head slowly drooped, his chin coming to rest on his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed. It was probably one of the sweetest sights I've ever seen. I wonder what Duo would say if I told him that?

I sat on the couch for a full half hour, just watching him sleep before I gathered him up and took him into my room. He was heavier than I was expecting. He looks light but he's all lean muscle and wiry strength. His weight was comforting and when I reached my bedside, I was reluctant to let him go.

And even now as I sit on the couch in my living room, the sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains, I can still feel his warmth and solid presence in my arms.

You don't know how much I wanted to curl up in that bed beside him. And I did think about crawling in next to him… but in the end I decided that too much time had passed since the last time we shared a bed. It felt like we were too old for that now, like it would just be too awkward.

Not to mention the fact that I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to control myself. You see, Duo takes temptation to a whole new level. Even after five years I'm still as attracted to him as I was that first night, more so even.

It was such a shock to see him standing on my doorstep. After Friday night, I fully expected that I would never see him again; he was so determined not to accept my help, not to allow himself to be vulnerable or weak.

Part of me is over the moon that he came to me in spite of all his misgivings, but part of me feels guilty, like I'm being selfish, making things harder for him.

I still want to help him, but I'm realistic enough now to know that I probably can't and that he wouldn't accept it even if I could. But I'd just like to be there for him. I want him to know that he can come to me for whatever reason… for a shower, for a place to sleep for the night, for company. Anything. I just want a chance to be with him, even if only for the briefest of moments.

My legs are stiff as I slowly stand, and I feel ungainly and uncomfortably rigid in my jeans.

I stretch languidly, working the kinks out of my aching muscles; they groan in protest at first, but then they warm up and I relax as my body finds its own comfortable balance.

I cross the room and pull back the curtains. They brush silently across the hard wooden floorboard as they are drawn back to reveal my prized balcony. I twist the handle and the bay doors swing effortlessly inwards.

The pale early morning sun streams in, bathing my face in a soft warm glow. I don't move to cross the threshold; instead I just stand in the doorway, leaning against the solid wood frame, and allow the sunlight to play around me.

I turn slightly to glance back into the room behind me. My gaze finds the clock just visible in the kitchen. It's nearly 7:30am.

Slowly I close my eyes, taking deep steady breathes, and then my body starts to move, almost of its own volition, as I start my day with a Salute to the Sun.

Trowa was the one who initially got me into yoga. I was sceptical at first; the only physical conditioning I did at the time was weight training and I was suspicious of those leotard-clad women I had seen at the gym and the strange ways they contorted their bodies.

But one morning I was staying with Quatre and Trowa after a late evening and I stumbled upon Trowa in the living room practising his meditative stretches. I was immediately entranced by the graceful way his body moved, the incredible strength and control he possessed.

And he began to teach me. At first I was hopeless. It was quite a shock to finally discover something I wasn't naturally good at. But that just made me more determined.

It took several months of practising every morning, but slowly I began to improve and now it feels completely natural… just another part of my morning routine, as normal as brushing my teeth.

I'm calm and relaxed as I straighten up for the final time, allowing my arms to drop back to my side and my eyes to open again.

And suddenly things are very clear. Normally at this point of the morning, I would beat a hasty retreat to the shower and I would wash quickly and efficiently. I would dress and eat my breakfast and then I would leave the apartment in time to catch the 8:15am train to work.

But today, I'm suddenly feeling very disinclined. I creep across the living room to my bedroom door, pressing my ear against the smooth wood, listening for… I'm not sure what.

Slowly I turn the door knob. The door opens a crack, just enough for me to peer in. A thin beam of sunshine is coming in through the gap in the curtains, illuminating Duo's form.

He is curled up on the left side of the bed, the covers are bunched up around his waist and one pillow has been knocked to the floor. His fingers are splayed across the empty bed beside him and his rope of hair twists languorously across the pillow. He is not wearing the t-shirt anymore and my gaze flickers across the bare shoulder that is visible. I lick my dry lips unconsciously.

His chest rises and falls rhythmically and ever so often he turns slightly to bury his face further into the pillow, tiny murmurs of contentment slipping past his lips.

It's so beautiful that my breath catches in my throat. I drink in the sight until I'm drunk on it and I have to close the bedroom door before I lose myself completely.

By now it's five minutes to eight. If I hurried, I could make the train on time… but that would mean disturbing Duo and that is something I don't think I could bear to do.

Internally, there is a battle raging. My ruthless work ethic demands that I leave for the office while another part of me, more susceptible to pangs of the heart, demands that I stay and relish the time I have with Duo, even if he is asleep and in another room.

The outcome of the war is unusual but perhaps not altogether surprising given my current state of mind. And so for the first time in my life, I reach for the phone.

I have to wait for a good ten minutes, the phone ringing in my ear, before it's answered. "Tanaki Industries, Cynthia speaking. How may I help you?"

I picture Cynthia in my mind. She is soft and round and gentle with wispy blonde hair framing her face. She is always nervous around me because once, when I had just arrived, I yelled at her and I made her cry. I've always felt guilty about that even though she _had_ been in the wrong. I've often considered apologising, but I doubt I ever will.

She sounds slightly breathless; she has probably only just arrived at the office and had to run for the phone.

"Hello, this is Heero Yuy." I can almost feel her blushing down the phone line. "I'm calling to say I won't be in today. Can you reschedule my appointments for later in the week?"

"O-of course, Mr Yuy," Cynthia stammers.

"Thank you. And when Relena Peacecraft inquires, would you be so kind as to tell her not to bother calling me at home because the phone will be off the hook?"

Cynthia hesitates for a moment and then I hear the scratch of her pen as she records my message. "Of course, Mr Yuy," Cynthia says again, sounding slightly more confident.

"Thank you. Good morning," I say mechanically. I replace the receiver before she can reply and then I lift it again, leaving it resting off the hook on the kitchen bench.

There is a strange tense feeling in my stomach; I am not accustomed to taking the day off and it doesn't settle particularly well with me.

But I resolve to forget it and by the time I've put the coffee on, I have and my mind is once again filled with deliciously Duo-centred thoughts.

11am has just ticked past and I'm halfway through writing a report to Tanaki Industries' partners outlining the current status of my team's project, when I hear the creak of a door opening.

I look up in time to see Duo appear in my bedroom doorway. He looks rumpled and drowsy. His eyes are still half closed and there are wisps of hair escaping the braid that hangs down over his shoulder.

He is wearing my t-shirt again but as he stretches sensuously, it rises revealing several inches of smooth skin.

I swallow and force my gaze back up to face. He blinks once and then twice before raising his fingers to his eyes to rub the sleep away.

By the time his hand falls back to his side, he is looking more alert and he seems to realise where he is.

His eyes meet mine across the empty living room and his mouth opens ever so slightly in surprise and then it curves into a tiny smile.

He steps into the room and then pauses. "You know, I had almost convinced myself that last night was a dream," he says after a moment. I know what he means and I nod with a smile.

'Thanks for letting me stay. I guess I just kinda fell asleep," he massages the back of his neck nervously.

"Yes, I carried you into my room so you would be more comfortable," I tell him, saving my report and shutting down my laptop as I speak.

He looks slightly taken aback by my comment and I wonder how he thought he'd gotten into my room. "Um… thanks. Where did you sleep?" he asks.

"On the couch," I wave my hand vaguely in the direction of the sofa as I stand.

"Shit, Heero, you shoulda just left me there. I didn't mean to kick you out of your own bed," he looks vaguely uncomfortable.

"It was fine, I didn't mind. I've slept on that couch many times before," I say, trying to reassure him but not entirely convinced of my success.

"Right. Still… you coulda stayed… I mean, it's not like we haven't shared a bed before."

My head snaps up as he says this and I wonder if he has thought about that night as much as I have. He refuses to meet my gaze though, staring resolutely down at the floorboards beneath his feet.

"Well, yes… but I didn't want to crowd you or anything," I say, my voice little more than a whisper.

He finally lifts his head and we just stare at each other for several moments. Eventually I clear my throat awkwardly. "Would you like some breakfast?" I ask.

He smiles and then the smile becomes a grin. "God, yeah, I'm starving!" His stomach rumbles at that moment with perfect timing and he smiles sheepishly.

I lead him into the kitchen. "There is cereal and toast and fruit," I tell him. "Or I could do eggs or something," I suggest.

"Nah, cereal is fine. Better than that, really. I don't have a fridge at home so I don't often get to have stuff with milk, yanno," he says.

I nod and then turn away, reaching for a nearby cupboard. "I've only got muesli, I'm afraid," I say, placing the box down on the kitchen table.

"That's cool, I wasn't really expecting you to be the Fruit-Loops type, anyway," he grins, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table.

"Fruit-Loops?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Yeah, they're these little loopy-things. Pure sugar, probably. One bite and you can practically feel your teeth rotting," he laughs and then stops suddenly. "They're really quite disgusting, I guess," he says, although I'm not convinced he means that.

I file this information away in my mind. Duo likes Fruit-Loops. Even though I might not see him ever again after day, I instinctively know that next time I'm at the supermarket, I'll be buying Fruit-Loops. Just in case.

I set a bowl and spoon on the table and let Duo serve himself while I fetch the milk. He eyes the carton hungrily and then douses his muesli liberally.

He hums in contentment as he munches his way through the soggy cereal. I smile as I seat myself opposite him to watch.

He licks his lips as he drains the remains of the milk and then he looks up at me. He hesitates. "Um… can I?" He indicates the cereal box hopefully.

I push it across to him. "Of course."

He grins and replenishes his bowl eagerly. We sit in silence while he finishes his second bowl and finally he sits back looking content.

"Thanks. That was good muesli," he says.

"I know. It's my favourite. I couldn't find it anywhere in Chicago so I had to get Wufei to send me some from New York. He seemed rather bemused by the fact that I was calling him at midnight to ask him to send me muesli," I chuckle quietly to myself remembering Wufei's dubious tone.

Duo joins in my laughter. "Wufei's the severe-looking one with dark hair, isn't he?" Duo asks a moment later.

I nod, slightly confused.

"Oh, there's a picture in your room… of you and Wufei and… Quatre's the blonde, right?"

I nod again, surprised that Duo has remember their names after all this time. "That's one of my favourite pictures. I'm not especially photogenic and for once I don't look murderous."

Duo laughs and the sound sends ripples of electricity up and down my spine. The tingles stay with me for many minutes afterwards.

"So, would you like anything else?" I ask Duo.

"Nah, I fine, thanks Heero," he replies. He pauses and then, "Actually, can I have some toast?"

I smile. "Of course," I say, standing up.

He slides effortlessly out of his chair and is at my side before I barely have the chance to register him moving. His hand finds my shoulder, pressing gently and guiding me back into my seat. "It's cool, I'll get it," he tells me. Even after he has turned away to the toaster, I can still feel the warmth of his hand on my collarbone.

He slots the bread into the toaster and then stands back. His gaze flits around the kitchen once. "Hmmm, knife…" he murmurs, opening the nearest drawer. "Hmmm, not knife," he says a moment later when the contents of the drawer is revealed to be an assortment of odds and ends, including several rubber bands, a box of matches, two candles and a peculiar utensil that Sally gave me when I moved but that I haven't yet established the function of.

"Top drawer over there," I tell him.

He crosses the kitchen behind me and I hear the sound of the drawer sliding open. "Ah, knife," he says and I turn in my seat to see him holding up the knife triumphantly. I stifle my laugh with my hand.

He finds the butter in the fridge but then turns back to me questioningly. I'm about to open my mouth to tell him where the spreads are but he holds up his hand. "No, don't tell me, I'll find it."

I raise one eyebrow but he looks so adorable that I don't have the heart to spoil his game.

He searches through each cupboard methodically and when he finally reaches the furthest cupboard he withdraws the peanut butter.

"Figures it'd be in the last frigging cupboard," he says in mock annoyance just as his toast pops.

Duo is spreading his toast with butter when he looks up and catches sight of the clock on the microwave. "Shit! It's nearly half past eleven!" He exclaims. "Shouldn't you be at work?" he asks, turning back to me.

"I called this morning… took the day off," I tell him.

An odd little smile crosses Duo's face. "Why?"

"I looked in on you and you seemed so peaceful… I thought you probably needed the sleep and I didn't want to disturb you," I say.

The smile is replaced by an unreadable expression. "Thanks." Duo pauses for a moment and then the smile is back. "You're right. I was exhausted. Slept like the dead, though. Your bed is really comfortable. Solid, but comfortable." For some reason there is a slight blush on his cheeks as he says this.

"It's a futon," I reply, cursing myself for my apparent inability to hold a conversation.

"I'm sorry you had to miss work," Duo says after a moment.

"I don't mind. Besides, I've worked for Tanaki Industries for nearly fours years without having a day off, I think they owe me one."

Duo grins and then turns back to his toast. He has wolfed the lot in about 30 seconds and so he leaves the plate on the counter and returns to the living room. I follow him automatically.

I'm just about to seat myself on the couch when Duo turns to me. "Tell me about these pictures?" he asks, indicating the snapshots I keep on the mantle.

I smile and skirt around the table to stand beside him.

Duo picks up the first photo and hands it to me. Wufei and Quatre and I are standing on the steps of the library at NYU. Quatre is laughing while Wufei and I look especially disgruntled. Our graduation gowns are flapping in the wind and we are each holding our mortarboards to our heads to stop them from flying away. Wufei's hair has come loose and is flying around him in black swirls. I suddenly find myself wondering if that's what Duo looks like with his hair down.

"That was our Graduation Day. It was so windy and cold. We'd been standing out there for what felt like hours waiting for Quatre's sister, Iria, to take the photo. Wufei was about ready to kill her by the time she took the bloody thing." I laugh. It had been a good day even if Wufei had spent an inordinately long time grumbling intermittently about his hair and/or the weather.

Duo smiles. "Quatre looks nice," he comments, leaning closer to me and peering over my arm.

"He is," I manage to croak, Duo's proximity playing havoc with my senses.

I replace the photo as Duo hands me another one. "Who's the tall guy?" he asks me.

I look down at the frame in my hands. It's two photos, both of Quatre and Trowa, taken just seconds apart. I remember the day I took them instantly.  
In the first photo they are posing for me. Trowa is standing behind Quatre, his arms around Quatre's waist. Quatre's head is turned slightly so that he is looking up at Trowa. There are the beginnings of a grin on Quatre's face while Trowa just looks serene, gazing down at the blonde in his arms.

In the second photo, the pose has been broken. Quatre is leaning forwards slightly, laughing, his blonde hair falling across his eyes, and Trowa is staring right at the camera looking bemused.

"That's Trowa," I tell Duo. "Quatre's boyfriend." Duo looks up at me as I say this, surprised. He hides it quickly and I continue. "He's a sub-editor at the New York Times. Very nice. Very quiet."

"Like you," Duo says, smiling down at the picture.

"Yes, I suppose a bit like me," I respond with a smile of my own.

"They look very happy together." Duo sounds almost wistful as he speaks.

"They are." I'm fairly sure I'm sounding wistful myself.

Our eyes meet and we both smile as Duo takes the frame from my hand. Our fingers brush briefly before Duo sets the frame back down on the mantle.

Duo picks up another one. "That's Wufei, but who's the chick?"

Wufei and Sally are sitting at the kitchen bench in our old apartment. Their shoulders are pressed tightly against each other and their heads are bent together so that their foreheads are touching. Neither is smiling; they both look very serious and intense… and yet very content and calm. I've always liked that photo. I think it's a good reflection of their relationship.

"Wufei's girlfriend, Sally. It's the kitchen in the apartment Wufei and I shared in New York. Sally moved in with him when I came to Chicago. They used to sit like that every night, studying. Wufei was doing Law and Sally was at Med. School." I break off, remembering the nights when I would come home from work, and I would cook dinner while Sally and Wufei studied.

"So, you're the only one without a partner?" It's more of a question than a comment and I look up when Duo says it. For a second I think I see a tinge of hope in those eyes but then it's gone; it was probably a trick of the light.

"Yes, I'm the only one without a partner," I reply, softly. Duo nudges me with his elbow slightly. I'm not entirely sure what he's trying to say with that gesture but I'm grateful for the contact anyway.

There are only two photos left on the mantle piece. Duo reaches for the first. I like this photo. Trowa and I are in his and Quatre's living room, standing in Warrior Two position, our legs and arms spread apart, looks of intense concentration on our faces.

It was just after I had gotten confident with my yoga and Quatre had snuck up on us.

"Trowa and I were doing our yoga and Quatre crept up with the camera. He took the photo and the sound startled Trowa. He fell over and then knocked me over. Quatre took another photo of the two of us in a jumbled mess on the floor. I'm surprised he could hold the camera straight, he was laughing so hard. I've got that photo somewhere but I'm too proud to display it in public," I tell Duo.  
Duo laughs, his shoulders shaking as that gorgeous sound escapes his lips. "I definitely think I'd like Quatre," he says absent-mindedly.

I think about this for a moment. Yes, he's right. I'm sure the two of them would get on very well together… once Quatre was satisfied that I was safe from harm, that is. I always thought I was the protective one out of the two of us, but Quatre can be equally as fierce when it comes to the happiness and well-being of his friends.

"And that's my family," I say before Duo can ask about the last photo. It's a professional portrait, taken just before I moved to New York. The four of us are standing in unnatural poses; none of us are smiling. My mother and brother look wooden and my father and I just look cold and stern. It's not a flattering photo of any of us really but for some reason I've always felt compelled to keep it here with the others.

"Well, you all look like a cheerful bunch, don't you?" Duo jokes. I laugh. "What are they like?" Duo asks a moment later.

"My mother is gentle and passive. Very kind. She was always very perplexed by my lack of social skills."

Duo laughs at this. "You have her eyes," he tells me a moment later.

I lean closer to peer at the photo. Yes, I suppose he's right. Funny that I've never really realised that before.

"My father is the opposite; very domineering. He has very high expectations and is not a particularly easy man to live with," I continue. "And my younger brother Shinji… he and I were never really very good friends. He's 17 now and thinks he's the centre of the universe. Of course, the fact that my mother treats him like he is doesn't exactly help. They still live in Boston. I haven't seen them for a couple of years." I stop suddenly, feeling very guilty and write myself a mental memo telling myself to call my mother.

"You've got quite a family," Duo says quietly, indicating not just my relatives but my friends as well, and I realise that he's right. "You're very lucky." I almost miss Duo's words they're so softly spoken.

I'm suddenly overcome by a moment of boldness and I take his hand gently in mine. Neither of us says anything for several longs minutes… it's enough to just stand together in my living room holding hands, words aren't needed.

The moment ends as moments always do and we go out and sit on the balcony. Our legs dangle over the side and the wind blows through out hair, lifting Duo's braid off his shoulders so that it flies behind him like a banner.

It's so peaceful and calming; I'm struck by the thought that this is what perfect feels like.

The day unfolds below us as Chicago goes about its business. Sometimes we talk… about silly, inconsequential things like my work or the weather and sometimes about bigger, more important, more intimate things like our dreams.

But mostly we just sit side-by-side in silence. I don't feel compelled to break the silence. For me, just being with Duo is enough.

It's six o'clock by the time we move. It's starting to get dark and the breeze is picking up, leaving us chilled and windswept.

"I should go," Duo says as I hold out my hand to him and help him to his feet.

I knew this moment would be coming, but now that it has, I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready to let Duo go again.

I'm overcome by the urge to wrap my arms around him and plead with him to stay. I know I won't, partly because I wouldn't want to put him in that position and partly because I'm afraid to hear his answer. Instead, I just nod miserably and lead him back into the apartment.

"Would you like another shower?" I ask, desperate to keep him here as long as I can.

"Nah, it's cool. I'm just gonna get dirty again," he says. Suddenly he blushes and his shoulders droop despondently.

I'm feeling rather like that myself. The sudden reminder of what Duo does every night hits me with the force of a steam train. I had almost forgotten, almost convinced myself that the outside world didn't exist, that it was just him and me here in this little apartment. It's depressing and painful to realise that it's not.

I hover in the living room while Duo disappears into my room to change. When he returns he's wearing those tight denim jeans again; they cling to his hips. He looks so dejected and I'm fairly sure that painful sensation in my chest is my heart shattering because I can't help him.

When he finally looks up and meets my gaze, the shutters have come down again and I can no longer see into his eyes. I can no longer tell what he's thinking or feeling just by looking at him.

He clenches his jaw determinedly and I follow the movement helplessly. He nods once. "I have to go. Smokey and Joe'll be wondering where I am."

I nod but I can't bear to lift my head to meet his gaze. I simply stare down at the floor, hoping this'll all go away and it'll just be him and me on the balcony again.

"I won't come back. I can't…" his voice cracks but he clears his throat and plows on. "But thank you so much for last night and today. It was a nice holiday from my life."

I look up only when I feel his presence right next to me. He grasps my hand briefly. I don't return the squeeze because I'm afraid I won't be able to let go if I did.

And then suddenly the sound of the door closing echoes around the apartment and I'm alone. Again.

I'm feeling a sudden urge to crawl into my bed and cry. But I don't. I close my eyes and take long deep breaths. I clear my head and when I open my eyes again it feels less like the world is going to collapse in on me.

It's strange. I feel miserable and ecstatic all at once; miserable because Duo is gone, but strangely euphoric because I at least got to spend those few precious hours with him. I'll always have those memories, and that's comforting enough to ease the pain ever so slightly.

The next morning I practise my Salute to the Sun but I'm so distracted that I nearly fall over. I can't stop myself from wishing that Duo was still in the other room sleeping.

Earl the Doorman nods to me as I appear in the lobby from lift. Just as I'm passing him, I hesitate.

"The man that came to visit me last night…" I begin.

"He wasn't on my list, but he did seem very desperate to see you," Earl interrupts. Desperate to see me? For some reason my heart beats faster at that thought.

"Thank you. If he comes back, he probably won't… but if he does, let him in," I say.

"Of course, Mr Yuy. I'll put him on the list. Duo Maxwell." His pen scratches on the paper as he records Duo's name. Maxwell. I didn't know that was his last name. I'm ashamed to realise that I didn't think he even had a last name.

"Thank you," I say again, realising that Earl has finished his task and is looking at me expectantly.

"No worries, Mr Yuy. Have a good day," he nods cheerfully to me as he opens the door.

"You too," I reply absent-mindedly as I exit and slowly make my way to the train station.

My morning work suffers from a distinct lack of attention. For some reason, every time I put my fingers to the keys of my computer and every time I lift my pen or answer the phone, I find myself thinking about Duo.

He persistently invades my thoughts. It's a relief when I can escape to lunch and try to drown my thoughts in the cafeteria chatter.

I've just succeeded in shifting my mind away from Duo when the thud of plastic against plastic jolts my attention away from my lunch and I look up to see Relena sliding into her seat opposite me. Moments later, Dorothy has seated herself as well.

I turn back to my salad. I can feel their eyes on me, penetrating and curious, but I refuse to look up.

"So, where were you yesterday?" Relena asks eventually, breaking the stalemate.

"Mars," I mutter acerbically.

"Come, come, Heero now's not the time to start growing a sense of humour," Relena retorts. Her tone dares me to look up and I do, in spite of myself.

At first, her smile is triumphant but then it morphs into one of kindness and concern. "So, where were you?" she asks again, gentler this time.

"Yes, yes, do tell," Dorothy remarks indifferently between sips of coffee.

"At home," I reply succinctly, gripping my fork tighter.

"Because?" Relena prompts.

"Because I felt like having the day off," I say.

"Heero Yuy just _felt_ like having the day off?" Dorothy inquires with false politeness. "There has to be more to it than that. You haven't had a single day off in the three and a half years you've worked for this company," she comments.

"You've read my file," I accuse.

"Of course, I have. I've read everybody's file," she states silkily.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I respond rhetorically and Relena laughs.

Dorothy ignores me. "It's my right, as Mr Tanaki's personal attaché, to know _all_ the gossip." She smiles toothily and I'm reminded of a shark.

Relena appears to be caught between her polite and diplomatic sensibilities and her curiosity. Finally she raises one delicate eyebrow and leans forward ever so slightly. "Such as?" she whispers, curiosity obviously winning out.

"Well, aside from knowing that Heero is a workaholic who never takes a holiday, I know that you, my dear Relena, were instrumental in getting one of your Harvard professors sent down because he was sleeping with his students, that Cynthia from the front desk was rejected from all of the colleges in this state, that Marie in Advertising has been divorced four times, that Darryl Hanover cheated on his MIT entrance exam, _and_ that Roger Barker was once arrested for lewd behaviour with a minor… who was male and a _professional_, if you catch my drift." Dorothy sits back in her chair looking pleased with herself.

As soon as the word 'professional' oozed off her red-painted lips, I cringed internally at the revulsion in her tone. I can't help thinking of Duo and now I'm feeling the distinct urge to wipe that smug look off Dorothy's overly made-up face.

I'm suddenly struck by just how insidious this woman is… the way she betrays the secrets of her workmates without batting an eyelid.

Relena on the other hand looks wide-eyed. "Roger Barker is gay?" she whispers. "I thought he was married?"

"He is," Dorothy smirks.

Relena tries unsuccessfully to hide her smile. "Well, who'd have thought? It's always the ones you least expect," she giggles and I'm suddenly disgusted with the pair of them, with Dorothy for being a bitch and with Relena for getting sucked in by her.

I clear my throat pointedly and try to pour as much abhorrence into my expression as I can. Relena immediately looks abashed, blushing a pretty red colour. Dorothy just shrugs and returns my gaze evenly.

I slowly rise from the table and make my exit. I can feel Relena's eyes still fixed on me and I can picture the look on the face, a mixture of guilt and secret amusement.

I retire to my office for the rest of the afternoon but I work slowly and distractedly; twice I have to re-draft the same letter. My thoughts have just come right back to Duo and I can't stop thinking about him. It suddenly occurs to me that I have a very long road ahead of me.

And I sigh heavily.

* * *

It has been a week and a half since Duo's visit and I'm beginning to lose hope. I think I was secretly expecting him to come back. I don't know why. He did say he wouldn't, after all. But I still dared to keep a tiny part of me reserved in hope… just in case.

But evidently, I was wrong. See? This is where dreaming gets you. Miserable and alone.

I stir my cocoa inattentively, slopping half of it across the kitchen counter. It's strange, but since Duo's impromptu visit, I've found myself unable to drink anything but hot chocolate.

And I've even started eating Fruit-Loops. I initially bought them on the off-chance that Duo returned but then I was curious and tried them just to see what they were like.

Duo was right; they're disgusting. Pure sugar and in bright colours that shouldn't be seen on something you're supposed to consume. But they're strangely addictive and I find myself eating them every morning, leaving my imported muesli dejected and uneaten. It's like I feel closer to Duo by eating and drinking the things that I associate with him.

I've also found myself studying the photos I have, running my fingers along the frames that Duo once held in his hand.

God, if I get any more pathetic… actually, I'm not entirely sure it's even possible to get more pathetic than I am right now.

I sigh heavily and reach for a cloth to wipe away my split cocoa. As I slowly run the damp sponge over the counter, I make a conscious decision to pull myself out of my self-imposed slump. My work and my mental state are suffering and it's about time I pulled myself together.

I leave my empty mug on the bench and wander into the living room. I sink down onto the couch but have barely sat there for five minutes before I feel compelled to move again. I'm so restless and it's only as pace in front of the fire for the second time and look up to see my photos that I realise that I'm lonely.

I return to the kitchen and pull myself up to sit on the counter. My legs swing restively back and forth across the cupboard beneath me. I reach for the phone.

"Hello?" Trowa's voice is smooth and deep and I feel an almost overwhelming relief at the sound.

"Hey, Trowa, it's Heero," I sigh into the receiver.

"Heero!" Trowa sounds surprised and pleased. "I haven't talked to you for ages."

I feel slightly guilty now and I suddenly realise that I never called Quatre back after his last message on my answer phone. "Sorry, I meant to call you guys back, but I guess I forgot. Anyway, how are you?"

Trowa chuckles lightly. "Not bad, I suppose. We have a new editor-in-chief and he's being particularly vile to me because of my sexuality. Quatre's working too hard, as usual. And his sister Mayada has practically moved in with us since she and her husband separated. All in all, not a particularly good week but, touch wood, things will get better."

I smile as he talks. It always strikes me as odd that he and I are much better at having a verbal conversation over the phone than we are in person. I suppose that's because we can't rely on non-verbal means of communication.

"But enough of all that drama. How are you?" Trowa asks. There is a slight shuffling noise which I assume is Trowa sitting down.

"I'm… fine." I try to sound confident but I'm sure Trowa has picked up on my hesitation.

"Really? You don't sound especially fine," he says and I can hear the doubt in his voice.

I suddenly feel compelled to tell Trowa all about Duo, about all my fears and doubts and wants. Of all my friends, I think Trowa would probably be the most understanding or the least judgemental. But I don't tell him. For some reason, the words stick in my throat and in the end, all I can say is, "Just a bit lonely, I guess."

Trowa murmurs understandingly and then he chuckles. "Well, don't tell Quatre, he worries about you enough as it is. He'll start hounding you about coming home."

I laugh as well and suddenly I'm feeling a whole lot better. "Thanks, Trowa. It's nice to hear your voice."

"You too," Trowa replies and I can hear the smile in his voice. There is a sudden muffled sound from Trowa's end and then I hear Trowa's voice, softer and further away this time, "Welcome home, mon petit. I'm just on the phone to Heero."

"Heero?" I hear Quatre's voice in the background. "How is he? Can I talk to him?" I smile. Whenever I hear Quatre's voice, I have to smile, he has that effect on people.

"Hello, Heero?" Quatre's voice hums down the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Quatre…" I begin but stop when I hear Trowa's voice in the distance.

"Well, that's nice, isn't it? My partner comes home and it's straight onto the phone to his friends. I don't get a hello or a kiss or anything." He sounds like he's trying not to smile.

Quatre and I both laugh. "I'm sorry, Heero, hold on a minute," Quatre says.

I hear the sounds of them kissing and I'm struck by a sudden pang as I realise how much I'd like that. Of course, it doesn't take long for my mind to leap from there to who in particular I'd like to do that with, but I block those thoughts immediately. I'm supposed to be getting over Duo.

Quatre laughs as he returns to the phone. "Sorry about that, Heero."

"It's fine. A man has to do what a man has to do," I joke, trying to make my voice cheerful.

Quatre laughs again. "It's wonderful to hear from you. I was starting to get worried. I mean, you're usually fairly lax about returning your messages but nearly two weeks is bad, even for you," Quatre teases.

"Sorry. I meant to call, but I was busy… with things. And you don't have to worry about me."

"Of course I do! You're my best friend and I miss you. Besides, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't worry."

"Well, I'm fine," I reassure him.

I'm fairly sure Quatre doesn't believe me because he 'hmmmms'. A moment later he says, "I dare you to say that again and sound remotely convincing." He pauses and then says, concern evident, "Are you sure you're alright, Heero? You sound a little off."

"No, I'm fine, just a bit lonely. Better for talking to you and Trowa though," I assure him.

"You could always come back to New York, you know," Quatre points out.

I smile as Trowa's words come back to me. "I know," I say, even though a significant part of me is willing to stay in Chicago forever on the off-chance that Duo might reappear, even 50 years from now. "I like it here, though."

"We'll have to come and visit you sometime, then. Drive the blues away in person. Sally graduates soon and so she and Wufei could probably get some time off, too." I smile. I love the way Quatre starts to make plans as soon as he has had an idea.

"Well, it would be nice to see you all," I say. "How are Wufei and Sally?"

"They're fine. Sal's in the grips of her finals and it's quite a shock to see her so tense. Wufei has been coming to dinner with us so that she has some quiet time to study." Quatre laughs. "I'm sure they'll both be very relieved when she graduates and becomes a fully-fledged doctor."

"And you're OK? Trowa said you were working too hard."

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, he always says that." I can almost picture Quatre waving his hand dismissively.

"Only because it's always true," I respond.

Quatre harrumphs. "Oh fine, gang up on me, why don't you?" I can hear Trowa chuckling in the background and then the sound of Quatre throwing something at him.

It's almost painful to realise how much I miss them but I'm still feeling happier than I've felt since Duo left.

"I should probably let you go. I just wanted to check in and return your call," I say, somewhat reluctant.

"Oh, OK. You can call us any time you like, Heero. We love you and we miss you, so don't be a stranger!" Quatre sounds like he's trying to be stern, but it isn't really working.

"I'm sorry, I'll try and call more often," I tell him.

"That's better!" Quatre laughs.

"OK, I'll talk to you soon."

"Good. Bye, Heero." In the background I hear Trowa calling his goodbyes as well. I smile as I hang up the phone.

I let my legs swing back and forth a few more times and then I slide down off the counter.

I was successfully diverted by my phone call, but now I'm feeling restless again. My eyes find the clock; it's half past ten. I consider calling Wufei and Sally but I stop, my hand half way to the phone; I don't want to be one of those people who call their friends in the middle of the night expecting them to chase away their loneliness. I contemplate settling myself in the living room to watch TV, but then I dismiss the idea and move through to my bedroom and start getting ready for bed.

I've just finished brushing my teeth and washing my face and am halfway through pulling my pyjama pants on when I'm startled by a sharp knock. I tumble forwards, my hand finding the mattress of my bed and breaking my fall.

I straighten up. My heart is suddenly beating so fast I'm afraid it'll give out. Slowly I pull my pyjamas up over my hips, knotting the tie firmly. My breathing has evened out now but my heart feels like it's lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

Nervously I exit my room and cross the lounge to the front door. My hand pauses on the door handle. Could it possibly be…? I cut that thought off. I know who I want it to be but I don't allow myself to hope, trying to prevent some of the disappointment I'll feel when it doesn't turn out to be him.

There is another knock and I jump. I take a deep breath and pulling back to the bolts I open the door.

Violet-blue eyes stare up into mine and I forget to breathe. At first Duo's face is expressionless as he gazes back at me but then something flickers behind his eyes and the mask cracks.

Suddenly he's looking nervous and upset and confused and uncomfortably desperate. He looks tired and worn. His jacket is hanging carelessly off one shoulder. The pocket of his shorts is torn, suspended helplessly by a few threads, and the laces are broken on one of his high heeled boots. In that moment, it takes all my strength not to gather him in my arms.

He dithers slightly, his mouth opening and then closing. I stand back and he crosses the threshold, gently brushing past me.

I close the door and turn to face him, leaning against the solid wood behind me for support.

We stand again in silence. For some strange reason, this is more awkward than the first time. I feel uncomfortably aware of the fact that all I'm wearing are a pair of thin cotton pyjama pants.

We don't speak. Duo turns slightly towards the bathroom. I nod and he disappears. It's only when the bathroom door closes behind him that I remember to breathe again, and oxygen floods my lungs painfully fast.

The sound of the shower running jolts me out of my daze and suddenly I'm smiling harder than I ever have in my life. This bizarre, irrepressible grin has broken out across my face and for the life of me, I can't seem to get rid of it. I'm not sure I realised it was possible to feel this happy.

I enter my bedroom, pulling open my chest of drawers, searching for the clothes he wore last time. They are neatly folded, slightly separated from the rest of my clothes, waiting for him to return.

I leave them on the bed and then I withdraw a second t-shirt and hastily pull it over my head. I exit again, closing the door behind me and sit myself on the couch.

And I wait. I no longer feel restless and I no longer feel lonely.

It's a good forty-five minutes before Duo appears again. He looks fresh and clean. But although his skin is a slightly healthier colour, pink from the hot water, there are still shadows under his eyes that betray his exhaustion. His hair is still damp from the shower but it pulled back in its customary braid, the occasional drop of water falling from the tip and soaking into his t-shirt.

He hesitates in my bedroom doorway and then slowly he smiles. "I'm sorry to just show up like this," he waves his hand vaguely.

"You said you weren't going to come back," I say softly, looking up at him from my seated position.

"I know."

"So why did you?" I hope I'm not sounding accusing; I just really want to know what changed his mind.

"I don't know." He scratches his jaw and my eyes follow the movement of his fingers. He looks torn and uncomfortable so I take pity on him.

"It doesn't matter." I pause and then, "I'm glad you came."

His answer his so soft I nearly miss it; I'm not even sure he intended me to hear it. "Me too."

"I was just about to go to bed," I tell him, my fingers plucking at a loose thread on my pants. I trail off and then start again. "Would you like a drink or something?"

"Nah, I'm fine. I don't want to keep you up. You probably have work and everything tomorrow," he says. "Plus I'm so tired myself I could sleep standing here." He smiles slightly, blinking slowly.

I stand awkwardly. "Sure. You can take the bed; I'll just grab a blanket."

He catches my arm as move to pass by him into the bedroom. "Nah, it's cool. I mean, you shouldn't have to sleep on the couch…"

"It's fine, I don't mind," I interrupt, frozen by the sensation of his hand against my bare skin.

"We can share," he says, ever so quietly.

I stare down at him, suddenly aware of the extra height I have over him. He looks so very small and unsure right now.

My mouth is dry and my heart is thumping again. Share a bed with Duo? Oh God, this is the Powers That Be teasing me, isn't it?

"Are you sure?" I ask.

He nods, shrugging. "S'not like we haven't done it before," he says and then blushes at his choice of words. I'm fairly sure he's not the only one who has gone pink with embarrassment.

This feels so stupid. We're grown men, for Christ's sake. We should be able to share a bed without melting into a puddle of awkwardness.

"OK," I find myself saying. I move away from him, turning off the lights as I do a tour of my tiny apartment.

And suddenly I'm standing in front of him again and this is it. I follow him into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me.

Duo hesitates and then crawls up the futon and slides under the covers; the movement is so alluring and it takes all my strength to force myself not to get hard.

"I'll be right back," I tell him and I escape into the bathroom. I use the toilet, trying to get my pulse under control. As I wash my hands I realise that I'm shaking slightly.

Duo is curled on his side, facing inwards, when I return. I hesitate slightly and then move towards the bed. Normally I'd take of my t-shirt, but I'm not sure I'd survive having Duo so close to my bare flesh and not be able to touch him. I almost can't believe I'm doing this as I slowly pull back the covers and slide in beside him.

It feels strange having someone next to me. I've had a few sexual partners in the past but we never got to the stage where I was comfortable enough to allow them to sleep the whole night with me. It just felt like to much of an invasion of my personal space.

But Duo lying beside me, his warmth seeping across the mattress towards me, the sounds of his breathing lulling me towards sleep… this feels right.

I turn slightly, trying to make out Duo's features in the darkness. He is shrouded in shadow but I can just see the brightness of his eyes in the gloom, staring back at me.

I desperately want to ask him why he came here, why he looked so miserable and hurt on my doorstep. My mind conjures images of horrible things happening to him, things that I can't protect him from. I swallow uncomfortably and I have to look away.

I stare up at the blackness above me, trying to curb the instinct to curl myself around him.

"Thanks, Heero," his voice reaches me through the darkness. His hand finds mine under the covers and squeezes gently before retreating.

"Anytime," I croak, trying desperately to keep my hormones in check.

Slowly, his breathing evens out and he is asleep. I allow myself to roll over again and shuffle ever so slightly closer so that I can see him through the gloom. He looks so peaceful… all the tension, the restless energy is washed away, leaving a calm, gentle figure lost in slumber. It's beautiful.

I smile to myself, and then I roll onto my stomach and allow sleep to claim me as well.

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**Author's Notes: Eh, voilà! At least we've got them back in the same bed… it's a start. I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can (which probably won't be that long if I know my complete aversion to doing my work for uni).  
****Anyway, a big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I love you all. And I wrote this chapter whilst listening to Norah Jones after being inspired by one particular review.  
****Speaking of which… one last thing… review?**


	7. Part Two: Chapter Four

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Phwaw! I've had the weekend from Hell. Let it be known to all the little kiddies out there that procrastinating like mad and leaving all your work to be done at the last minute at 2:30am is NOT A GOOD IDEA! I wish I could say I've learned my lesson, but I doubt I have. Anyway, two essays and a thesis outline later and I'm a free woman again. Well, until the next period of stress-inducing due dates at any rate. And I still somehow managed to find the time to finish this chapter. How talented am I?**

**Meh, ignore me, just read the blurry thing. I hope you enjoy it and please leave me a note… I really need to hear something nice and positive to make up for that horrifying weekend of doom. Please?**

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Part Two – Chapter Four:

Duo

I'm falling. The wind rushes past me as I tumble through the blackness. My heart is racing and I feel sick to my stomach, nausea washing over me in waves as I plummet.

I know I'm dreaming… this nightmare is a regular occurrence. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not; it's still as fucking scary as it ever was.

Even though I am aware of the fact that this is just a dream, I'm still powerless to stop it. I'm helpless in this dream of mine and I start to panic. My arms stretch away from me, searching, clawing at the darkness for something to hold on, for something to save me. But there is nothing there but black emptiness.

Slowly the shadows fade and I can see the ground rushing up to meet me. I close my eyes and wait for impact. I never wake up in time to save myself from the collision; I always hit, waking simultaneously, the shock and the pain of my body crushed between solid ground and gravity still rippling through me.

I can feel myself speeding up, getting closer and closer to the ground, waiting, heart in mouth, for the sickening crunch of contact.

I open my eyes at the last moment… I'm just metres above the ground. I screw my eyes shut so tight it's painful. But the crash doesn't come.

Suddenly I'm awake; my breath is ragged, echoing around the silent room. I close my eyes again, blacking out the darkness of the room, as I try to slow my heart rate, as I try to regain control of my body. And all the while I'm wondering why I didn't hit the ground.

And then, unexpectedly, a hand finds mine… smooth warm flesh slides across my palm, fingers interlace. I breathe in relief as I find something in the darkness to hold onto.

"Duo? Are you alright?" An urgent, worried whisper breaks through the blackness and I open my eyes to find Heero leaning over me. Those deep blue eyes are bright in the darkened gloom and his warmth is seeping into me, chasing away the shadows.

And that's when I remember where I am. I came back.

For a second time I find myself waking in Heero's bed, his sheets wrapped around me, his scent lingering in the air. But this time it's different because Heero is right next to me, his body so close, his hand in mine, his gaze flickering over my face, etched with lines of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I croak, huskily. "Sorry, did I wake you?" He's holding my hand and right now, it feels like his fingers laced through mine are the only things keeping me from falling again.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter. It's almost seven; time I was getting up anyway." His voice is so low and smooth, slightly clipped but reassuring. Damn, shivers again.

I stare up at him and as our eyes meet he seems to realise the position we're in. He blushes uncertainly and pulls away, his hand slipping from mine. I want to pull him back, to curl my fingers around his again, but I don't.

He slides gracefully out of the bed, straightening up. His joints pop slightly as he stretches and his t-shirt rises up. Suddenly I really, really want to run my fingers along the strip of firm, muscled flesh that is revealed. Shit! Stop thinking like that, Duo!

He turns back to me and gives me a tiny smile. I return it as I watch him pad quietly across the room to the bathroom.

He flicks the light on and I lift myself gently onto one elbow, watching as he bends over the sink and washes his face. He reaches for his tooth brush and as he straightens up, our eyes meet in the mirror.

I'm slightly torn. I know I should get up. Heero probably has to get to work and he doesn't want me lounging around like some decadent sloth while he's trying to get ready. But this bed is just so warm and comfortable. I really don't want to leave.

Slowly I drag myself out of bed, stumbling slightly as I try to untangle myself from the covers. I bet Heero doesn't sleep like this, twisted in the sheets. I remember that first night in his hotel room… he slept curled up, neat and tidy. I wonder if he still sleeps like that. I wish I'd woken before him so I could see.

I pause in the bathroom doorway as he bends forward again to rinse his mouth. He looks sideways, glancing up at me through his unruly bangs; he looks like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards. It's pretty fucking cute.

Cute's not word I'd normally use to describe Heero. Puppies and kittens are cute, grown men that are polite and smart (but who still manage to ooze unconscious sex appeal) aren't supposed to be cute. But in this moment, hair falling in his eyes as he stares up at me, Heero is cute. Damn! I'm pretty sure I've got this pathetically goofy smile on my face. I'm such an idiot.

There is a flash of confusion on Heero's face, but it's gone by the time he has straightened up. He is just about to drop his toothbrush back into the cup by the sink when he turns to me with this annoyingly unreadable expression on his face. Slowly he holds the toothbrush out to me, his eyebrows raised in offer.

Is he kidding? Now I know I'm looking like an idiot. My mouth is hanging open and I probably look like a stunned mullet. Is he really offering me his toothbrush?

It's such an intimate gesture. It's the kinda thing lovers do; borrowing each other's toothbrush just feels natural because they've already shared everything else with each other.

I reach out and grasp the offered item, trying not to think of all the personal connotations of such a gesture; my fingers brush against Heero's and I've got the shivers again. Bloody Hell, Maxwell! Pull yourself together.

"Thanks," I croak, swallowing hard.

He doesn't smile at me but the corners of his lips turn upwards ever so slightly and then he slips past me back into the bedroom. I hear the creak of the door as he disappears into the living room and then turn back to stare at myself in the mirror.

Slowly, automatically, I run the toothbrush under the tap and squeeze the minty gel out of the tube. And then I'm brushing my teeth. With Heero's toothbrush. And it feels like I'm still stuck in that bloody dream. This is too surreal.

I spit and rinse and then I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. If I try really hard, I can almost pretend that this is really my life, that this is my bathroom and that the plastic toothbrush in my hand is my lover's; he lets me borrow it because he loves me…

Now I'm just dreaming again. And everyone knows that dreams don't come true.

Gently, I place the toothbrush back in its holder. It winks up at me, blue plastic shimmering under the bright bathroom lights. And suddenly, out of the blue, it feels like I'm falling again. My insides lurch uncomfortably and I stumble forwards, my hands finding the edge of the porcelain basin and holding on for dear life.

The sensation passes and I slowly, cautiously uncurl myself. When my eyes find my reflection in the mirror again, the dream is over. All I see is a pale skinny man with shadows under his eyes and strands of loose hair stuck to his clammy forehead.

I escape back into Heero's bedroom and sit down heavily on the corner of his bed. Why on earth did I come back here? What demon crawled into my brain and convinced me that it was a good idea? Fucked if I know. All I remember is being so tired and lonely last night…

Actually my last trick wasn't all that bad, well for a trick anyway. He was one of those quiet, shy, guilty types... ashamed of the fact that he's attracted to men, of the fact that he's tried all sorts of things with women, on and off the streets, but it doesn't work and he still ends up coming back to guys like me.

I know why he picked me. It's the hair… it's because if he works hard enough, he can fool himself into thinking I'm female. He takes me from behind, he closes his eyes and he pretends that he's normal.

When I was a kid at the Maxwell Orphanage I used to get teased by the other kids because of my long hair. They'd call me a girl and a sissy. I'd get angry and usually end up hitting them. At the time it seemed like the only way I could show them that they were wrong; they seemed to get the message.

Sister Helen took me aside and told me that violence wasn't the answer, that instead of getting angry, I should be compassionate, I should help them see past their intolerance. I wonder if she'd still say that if she could see my life now?

Anyway, once upon a time, being androgenous was the bane of my existence but now I use it to my advantage. If it means I get tricks that are shy and awkward, who are more afraid of me than I am of them, who'll pay me and leave as soon as they're done… well, then it's worth being called a girl.

His name was Andrew. Or at least that's what he told me. It was probably the truth, actually. He didn't strike me as the type to lie to other people, especially about the little things. He only lies to himself, and only about the big things. I suppose he's a bit like me, really. OK, that's a depressing thought.

He was one of those guys who likes to make small talk as he drives me to the nearest motel, trying to quash the guilt he feels because he knows he didn't pick me up to talk to me.

At least he was quick, not one for stamina. Not that I cared. I just wanted to get the Hell outta there. He threw his money at me as he left, desperately trying not to look at me. And then sated, he went home to his empty flat; I doubt a guy like him is married. I almost felt sorry for him. Nah, not really.

I left via the fire escape. I hate having to walk through the lobby of a hotel, past the receptionist who knows exactly what I've been doing and whose expression of disgust betrays exactly what she thinks of me.

I got as far as the payphone outside. I started to call Joe. He usually picks me up afterwards and take me back to my patch so that I can wait for the next trick and for the damn whole cycle to start again. I was halfway through dialling when I just stopped. I couldn't bring myself to finish.

And before I knew what I was doing I was standing outside Heero's apartment building again. I'm weak, I know. But I just needed to see him again. Just needed to feel safe and warm and cared for… just once more. And I swear it _will_ be just once more.

He was so sweet, too. Just let me in, didn't ask me why I was here, didn't make me feel unwelcome, just let me in as though he'd been expecting me all along.

And maybe he had been expecting me. Maybe I'm that transparent. Maybe he knew I wouldn't have the strength to stay away. Actually, I don't really care. It's just once more, after all.

I fold my arms across my chest, pulling Heero's t-shirt tighter around my frame. I resolve that I'll stop thinking about… well, everything. I'll go into the kitchen and have breakfast with Heero and I'll pretend I'm normal. I don't have to face up to my life just yet.

My gaze drops to the clock beside Heero's bed; it's one of those fancy alarm clock things that have so many functions, it takes you a week just to figure out how to work it. Not that I've ever owned one, that's just the impression I get from looking at it. And actually, I bet Heero is one of those people who can look at a machine and knows exactly how to work it. He probably never has to read the instructions.

The flashing red numbers read 7:03am. It feels like I've been sitting on this bed for a lot longer than five minutes. I haul myself up and cross the room to grasp the door handle.

My breath catches in my throat as I open the door. Heero is standing in the living room. His legs are wide apart and one knee is bent as he leans over it. His arms are stretched out, his head turned to the right to stare past his finger tips.

He's so still, he almost looks like a statue. There is a look of intense concentration on his face, the only thing betraying how hard he is working.

"What are you doing?" I didn't really mean to say that aloud, but now that I have, I wait patiently for his answer, leaning gently against the doorframe.

His head turns ever so slightly back towards me. "Yoga. Standing strength," he says quietly. "This position is called 'Warrior Two.'" I can see where it got its name from. Heero does look like a warrior… strong and graceful and controlled… a perfect warrior.

"I didn't figure you for the yoga type," I say after a moment, realising that I've been admiring his figure for just a fraction too long. "I always thought it was a bit… you know… hippy and well, girly." I blush as soon as the words leave my mouth. Right now, Heero looks anything but effeminate.

He hums. "Yes, I used to think that too. But then I saw Trowa doing it one morning and was entranced. He taught me. I was hopeless at first but then I grew to love it. It's not wishy-washy at all. It's about strength and power and control and it's a great work out; brilliant for muscle conditioning. The amount of strength it requires to hold a pose like this is phenomenal." I believe him. His muscle are taut with tension, I can see them working beneath the thin material of his clothes. "Of course, there is a spiritual side to yoga as well, but I don't really go in for all that." He casts me a wry grin.

I lick my lips unconsciously. "Teach me?" Shit, did I say that out loud?

"Really?" he asks me, his voice is confused but his face is blank. Yep, definitely said it aloud. Big fucking mouth, Duo! I nod, not really trusting myself to speak. He smiles again and then gently pulls himself out of his position.

"Come here," he holds out his hand to me. I step forwards and my fingers find his. I let him manoeuvre me into position.

"Spread your legs wide," he tells me, releasing my hand and moving to stand behind me. I try desperately not to think of all the times I've heard that said before.

"Now bend your right leg." I twist as I bend and suddenly his hands are on my hips. I stop breathing.

"No, keep your hips facing forwards." Those hands twist be back to the front. He's standing so close behind me, I can feel his warmth seeping into me.

"Now, lift your arms." His fingers curl around my wrists, lifting my arms up and stretching them out, parallel to my legs. "Now turn your head to the right and look out over your fingertips." His breath is warm on the back of my neck.

"And there you go. Warrior Two. Don't forget to breathe," he whispers as he steps away from me. It's only when I can no longer feel his warmth behind me that I allow myself to exhale again.

He moves around so that he's standing in front of me and then, facing me, he moves into the position himself. He's much more graceful about it than I am.

I've been standing in Warrior Two for barely a few minutes when I suddenly realise how right Heero was when he said it was about strength and control. Already my shoulders are feeling tired and I have to use every ounce of strength I have to keep my legs from shaking. I twist my head a little to the left to look at Heero. He is perfectly still. He makes it look so easy.

My head turns back but in that tiny movement, I lose my focus and then shortly after, my balance. I fall forwards, closing my eyes and waiting to connect with the floorboards but instead I find myself careering into firm, warm body.

Heero lets out an "oof" of surprise as I fall into him. His arms wrap around my waist and he cushions my fall with his body. There is a solid thud as we hit the floor. For a moment I just lie there… and that's when I realise that I'm lying on top him with his arms curled around me. I find myself staring into deep blue eyes and I forget to breathe again. I hastily pull away, struggling to disentangle myself. His arms release me as I stumble to my feet.

"Shit, I'm sorry! I ruined it," I wail. He holds out his hand to me and I pull him to his feet.

"No, it's OK. You aren't the first to confuse me for a landing mat," he chuckles quietly, obviously lost in a private memory. He turns back to me. "You were doing really well," he tells me. "Up until your spectacular fall, that is." He smiles and I have a feeling the expression on my face is a cross between embarrassed and disbelieving. "No, really, you're much better at it than I was when I first started," he reassures me and I can't help smiling after that.

"Come on, I'll show you the Salute to the Sun," he says, taking my arm and turning me slightly so that we're facing the door to the balcony which is open and allowing the sun to stream in.

"Salute to the Sun?" I question. "Now that sounds more trippy."

"Yes, I suppose it is. The focus is more on breathing than strength. OK, inhale, arms up. Keep them straight." He lifts his arms gracefully so that his fingertips meet above his head. I mirror his movement, inhaling. "Now, exhale and bend forwards at the waist." Heero can touch the floor without bending his knees, but I'm not that flexible and my knees bend slightly so that my fingers can brush the smooth floorboards.

I feel kinda stupid and tell Heero this. He chuckles lightly. "Shh, focus on your breathing. Deep breaths, in and out through your nose. It's brilliant for stress-relief and you can do it anywhere." Dutifully, I shut up and focus on my breathing.

"Bend your knees and take your right foot back into a lunge." I watch Heero and then copy. I feel incredibly ungainly but at least I haven't fallen over again.

"OK, look up and then take your left foot back as well. Exhale." I follow his movement and now I have my arse in the air and I feel a bit like a tent. "Stay there," Heero says and pulls himself out of the pose. He approaches me and then his hand his on the back of my head. He guides my head down gently. "Tuck your chin in, and look behind you," he tells me. "Now straighten your arms and push back as though you're trying to get them flat on the floor." His hands trail up my arms and over my shoulders, pressing down gently. Suddenly my breathing is the last thing I'm thinking about. "Don't worry, your arse is supposed to stick out like that," he says, seeing the rather dubious look on my face. "Try to get your heels as close to the floor as possible. If you practice, eventually one day your hamstrings will be flexible enough that you can have them flat against the ground."

He moves away again and moves back into the position. His heels are flat against the wooden boards. "This is called 'Downward Facing Dog,'" he tells me and I have to smile.

"Downward Facing Dog? How did they come up _that_ name?"

He laughs. "I don't know. You'd have to ask Trowa. But most yoga poses have ridiculous names. Cow face pose, half-lotus, dead bug pose…" he trails off. "Actually the dead bug pose is rather accurate… very reminiscent of a dead bug."

"Shhh," I tell him. "Focus on your breathing." I take a brief moment away from my own breathing to look smug. Heero just rolls his eyes.

"Now, up on your toes and move forwards into 'Plank'. Inhale." I copy his movement wishing I looked even half as graceful as him. The muscles around my stomach are immediately straining and my arms shake slightly. "Best abdominal workout, you'll get," he says. "If you're interested in washboard abs."

He doesn't seem to realise the connotations of those words but I sure do. I try not to think of what Heero looks like with his shirt off and focus on inhaling.

"Now float down, tuck under and pull up. Exhale." I watch him move and then follow. My triceps give out halfway through the movement and I flop down onto the floor.

"Don't worry about it. Just come into Upward Facing Dog," he tells me. I lift my upper body, propping it up with my arms. "Turn your toes under and push back into Downward Facing Dog again. Inhale." We move simultaneously though I have a bit of a wobble halfway through.

As I settle back into the position, I find myself having distinctly inappropriate thoughts. All this having your arse in the air and moving down and then back up again… well, you get the picture. It's strange, you know? I haven't been able to joke about sex for years; it was always too close to the bone. But now I find myself laughing.

"What?" Heero asks, turning his head slightly to look at me.

"I was just thinking that these moves are kinda kinky," I tell him, biting my lip to stop the chuckles.

Heero rolls his eyes. "Only if you have a mind that resides in the gutter," he mutters.

His face returns to concentration and he turns again. "OK, swing your right foot forward into lunge and look up. Exhale. Now bring your left foot forward as well. Inhale. Stay bent at the waist in Forward Fold. Tuck your head under. Exhale. Now straighten up, lifting your arms. Inhale."

I sweep my arm up in a wide circle, breathing out as my fingers meet. Heero's right. This whole breathing thing is very relaxing.

"Now, bring your arms down again, back to your sides. Exhale. And that's it."

"That's it?"

"Well, no now we have to do it all again leading with the left foot and then that's an entire cycle," he tells me.

"OK, let's do it," I say determinedly. And so we move through the motions one more time. It's easier second time through. I'm more confident with my movements and there is less wobbling. Heero doesn't come over to help me with my Downward Facing Dog and I find myself rather disappointed.

When we straighten up again for the second time, Heero turns to me, smiling. "You're a natural," he tells me. I cast him a look that probably says something like 'yeah, right.'

"I'm serious," he replies. "I was so stiff and wooden when I first started. I had to learn to be graceful and it took me forever. You have it naturally."

I'm fairly sure I'm blushing. I mumble a thank you, staring at the floor, not quite trusting myself to look up. I'm suddenly assaulted by the memory of Heero's hands around my waist, on the back of my head, the small of my back and I have to remind myself that any minute I'm going to leave this apartment for good and that I can't let myself get sucked in again.

I think Heero must sense that I'm feeling awkward because he takes pity on me and changes the subject. "Right, well I should probably have a shower and get ready for work. Although I'd much rather stay home."

I have to smile when he says this even if I am trying to ignore the little voice inside me that is saying the exact same thing.

He disappears into the bathroom and a moment later I hear the rushing sound of the water. God, you have no idea how much I want to see what Heero looks like with hot water running down his naked body.

Yeah, I'm going to Hell, I know. He just wants to help me, be my friend, and here I am having all sorts of naughty thoughts, which leads to all sorts of problems arising. I try to force myself to think of the most un-sexy thing imaginable. It's not very hard; I see it every day, after all.

I've been attracted to people before, but that was a long time ago. It's probably been several years since I was properly attracted to someone.

When I was younger sometimes my body would react of its own accord, I couldn't control it. I wasn't attracted to the person I was with by any stretch of the imagination, but I was a teenager and evidently teenage guys can get hard even when they're repulsed. I used to hate myself and my body for it; it felt like it was betraying me.

But now, years of teenage hormones behind me, I can control my body and its responses. And when you see the kinda guys I do on a regular basis, it tends to kill any sense of attractiveness. It gets to the stage where I don't feel desirable and no one else ever looks desirable.

But not Heero. Today, the same as five years ago, there is attraction like you wouldn't believe; mental and emotional as well as physical, although to be strictly truthful, there is a lot of physical attraction happening here. I'm only human.

I used to dream about having this kind of a connection with someone. To find a person that I felt comfortable enough with to just be myself, to let my guard down. If it hadn't been with Heero, I never would have let all that yoga stuff happen. Bent over with your arse in the air is not a position I would usually put myself in if I didn't have to, it makes me feel too vulnerable. But with Heero… it was fine; I knew I could trust him.

That's actually a rather scary thought. I'm used to trusting nobody, not even Smokey or Joe. I never let anyone in and so I was always protected. And then Heero comes along and destroys that with one fell swoop and I find myself not minding at all…

Oh God, I have to stop thinking about this. I'll never be able to leave otherwise.

The sun has slowly been rising. Before, the bright rays that shone in hit me at chest level, but now I have to turn my face away to protect my eyes from the glare. I take this as my cue and I retreat back to Heero's bedroom.

The shower is still running so I'm safe from interruption for the moment. I borrow Heero's brush and I comb out my braid, tangled from a restless sleep. The scent of Heero's shampoo lingers in my hair. "Sea Breeze," same as it was five years ago. They don't sell that brand here in Chicago. I know because I looked. For months after that first night with Heero, I looked for the blue "Sea Breeze" bottle with the dolphins on the label. But I couldn't find it. I wonder what Heero will buy when he runs out, which he probably will very soon if I keep using it to wash my mane.

My fingers work the hair back into a braid, it's always harder when its dry but it still takes me only a little over a minute to complete. I've got this braiding business down to a fine art by now.

My clothes are still in the same position I dropped them in last night, sitting in a little dejected pile by the bathroom door. I pull them on reluctantly. I feel more naked, more vulnerable in these clothes than I do when I'm actually naked… probably because these clothes make me feel like I'm asking for it.

I wince and sit heavily on the bed to do up the laces of my knee-high boots. My head jerks up as I hear the rushing sound of the shower cease.

I'm on my feet in a second and I'm suddenly struck by the urge to leave. If I go now, just slip out while Heero's not looking, then I won't have to go through all that business of saying goodbye.

Before I know what I'm doing, one hand is curling around the front door handle, the other releasing the bolts. I stop myself before I actually manage to get the door open and back away, heart in my throat.

I run away all the time. It's just what I do. I run, I hide, but I never lie. But this time I refuse to run. Heero doesn't deserve that.

I force myself into the kitchen and I sit at the table and I wait for Heero to reappear. When he does, he's dressed in a suit. He suddenly looks much older. Classy folds of grey material add years to his appearance, but he tugs unconsciously at his tie and for the briefest of moments he looks like a kid playing dress-ups with his father's clothes. Of course, the moment passes and he looks mature and responsible again, just another smart businessman.

His hair is still damp and he runs his fingers through it, droplets of water trickling down his hands and soaking into the cuff of his shirt. His lips purse ever so slightly in irritation.

He looks up and sees me and a flash of surprise flickers across his face before he controls it. I think he expected me to leave. I think he knows me better than I give him credit for.

"Breakfast?" he asks casually, smiling.

I nod and my stomach rumbles a moment later. Heero smiles as he turns away to the cupboards. The box he puts down on the table is not the one I'm expecting.

"Fruit-Loops?" I ask, taken aback.

"You said you liked them…" he stops abruptly and clears his throat awkwardly. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," he finishes.

I'm touched by Heero's thoughtful gesture but I can't quite figure out how to tell him this. In the end, I tell him a story, hoping he'll get my cryptic message. "We used to have Fruit-Loops at the Orphanage. Every Saturday morning as a treat. It was a tradition and all the kids used to race down the moment the bells rang, yanno, to make sure they didn't miss out. Father Maxwell used to say we had earned it for making it through the week. I haven't had them since the Orphanage… well, for years," I trail off.

"You're welcome," Heero says softly, sliding into the chair opposite me and then pushing the milk across the table. I don't look up at him, but I do smile and I can sense him doing the same.

For several minutes we just eat, allowing a comfortable silence to descend. Comfortable silences are not something I'm particularly used to and after a while, I find myself getting slightly fidgety.

"So what you got planned for today?" I ask, mentally cursing myself for my uninspired conversation starter.

I'm painfully aware of the fact that, unlike me, Heero finishes chewing and swallows before he answers. "Work. Drafting and re-drafting proposals, meetings, phone calls. The usual," he says shortly.

"Sounds… well, actually kinda boring," I say candidly.

He smiles faintly. "Yes, it is a bit. We're still in the planning stages. By next week we should have approval and then we can start building prototypes."

I'm impressed. I don't even know why. I know fuck all about computers, after all, but 'building prototypes' sounds very high-tech and exciting.

"I bet it pays a ton," I think aloud. Shit, I really have to start thinking before I open my mouth.

Heero laughs. "Yes, it does rather." He doesn't say anything more than that and I smile, glad that Heero has managed to keep the conversation from descending into awkward money talk.

The clock on the microwave has just flashed 8:05am when Heero pushes his chair away from the table and deposits his breakfast bowl in the sink.

He clears his throat hesitantly. "I have to go. My train leaves at quarter past."

I nod but for the life of me I can't seem to get my limbs to work. I sit there like a gormless idiot. I'm not ready for this once more to be over.

Heero disappears and I can hear him moving about in the living room. There is a gentle, mechanical tinkle which I presume is his computer shutting down. The sound jolts me like a shock of electricity and I'm suddenly on my feet, my chair sliding backwards across the floorboards with a slight scrape.

I join Heero in the living room and for several moments we stand awkwardly by the front door, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Heero's face is an expressionless mask. It feels like he's desperately trying to hold all his emotions in. I try to do the same, but I don't think I'm as successful at it as Heero is.

"Thank you," I croak eventually, breaking the self-conscious silence. "For letting me stay." I stop abruptly, not really sure what I'm trying to say.

"You're welcome," he responds a moment later.

"Iwon'tcomeback," I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a jumbled mess. I wince and then try again. "I won't come back." The words hang between us. I'm uncomfortable aware of the fact that those were the exact words I said last time. But this time I mean it. I won't be coming back. I can't.

"OK," he shrugs slightly, staring down at the gleaming oak floorboards. "You're welcome anytime, though," he adds.

"Thank you," I say again. I grasp his hand briefly. And then I take a deep breath and then I swing the door open and step forwards.

I'm running before I even realise it. I don't look back to where Heero is standing in the doorway, I just bolt down the corridor. I don't wait for the elevator; I simply swerve to the left and fly down the stairs, down all nineteen flights. My footsteps hammer on the metal steps, the heavy thuds echoing up and down the narrow staircase.

I shoot across the lobby. The doorman moves to open the door for me, but I beat him to it, flinging it open and nearly knocking him down in my haste. I don't stop to apologise. In fact, I don't stop until I'm three blocks away. By that stage my heart is thumping painfully in my chest and by breath is coming in short, ragged bursts.

I sink down into a seated position on the curb, my heavy boots resting in the gutter. I close my eyes and wait for my body to relax again.

When it does, I lift my head wearily, staring at the cars and buses that rush past me down the street. On a crowded sidewalk in the middle of Chicago I suddenly feel so very alone. And it's all my fault. But this has to be the end of it. It was just once more and now it's over.

I jerkily get to my feet and make my way home. I pass under a railway bridge as a train goes thundering over head. I wonder if Heero is on it?

I'm a few blocks from home when I stop. I grip onto a nearby lamp-post for support and I make myself a silent promise. I won't go back.

But I made that promise once before and, second time round, nothing has changed and I find myself breaking it just as easily.

I can't stop myself. I go back. Again. And again and again.

TBC…

* * *

**Author's Notes: And here we are again, at the end once more. A bit of trivia for you: the yoga scene was the originally plot bunny that spawned this here baby of mine. I was early to my yoga class and witnessed the instructor guiding this poor young guy through his moves and I suddenly had an "ooh, this has Heero/Duo potential" moment. So I filed the idea away for later but then the plot bunny came back with a vengence and an entire plot attached. And here we are. OK, trivia time over.**

**Now, it is your duty, as readers of fanfic, to review. I write, you review… that's just how the system works. And you wouldn't want me giving up my end of the bargin now would you? So what do you do? Yep, you got it. Review.**

**A giant huge THANK YOU to everyone who has taken their duty seriously and has reviewed the story so far. I appreciated it like you wouldn't believe. Love youse all.**


	8. Part Two: Chapter Five

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Well, I'm sorry this chapter has taken me so long – I've been in a rather depressed state (read: curled up in my bedroom, trying to ignore the outside world). The Australian Federal Election was last weekend and apparently the greater part of the Australia population is either ignorant or brain-dead and thus the Howard government was returned for a fourth term with an increased majority. And now it looks like he'll control the Senate as well. It was a sad day for Australian politics and for Australia in general, IMHO. **

**But enough of all that depressing bollocks, let's get this show on the road. Here is Part Two, Chapter Five. I'm hoping the length will make up for the lateness. So read on and enjoy my lovelies!**

Part Two – Chapter Five:

Heero

Duo and I have settled into a strange sort of rhythm. It's unpredictable and irregular but it's probably the best thing in my life at the moment.

I wasn't expecting it. I mean, he said he wasn't going to come back and there was such determination, such conviction in his voice that I believed him.

I couldn't even bear to watch him as he left. I lingered just inside the doorway, unable to step forwards and watch him disappear. But I did hear the thunder of his footsteps pounding down the carpeted hallway and I did hear the bang of the stairwell door as it slammed shut behind him. And in that moment, listening to the deafening sounds of Duo running away from me, I thought that was the end. It was over.

I considered myself lucky, though… lucky enough to get one more time, one more evening, one more morning… and I would have been happy with that. Well no, OK not happy, but accepting, resigned.

But the higher beings that supposedly exist on the plane above ours had other plans. They decided to shine down on me and he came back.

I think I nearly died of shock. Years ago in a passing comment, Quatre once said that he was so shocked he could have been knocked down with a feather. I don't remember the context of those words but I do remember that, at the time, I didn't really understand what he meant. But seeing Duo there on my doorstep, realising that he had come back to me, I knew exactly what Quatre had been experiencing that day. And you could have knocked me down with a feather.

And this time, it wasn't just once more. He came back again. And again and again.

It's like a dream, except that I never dream. I don't know whether it's because I don't sleep soundly enough or because I'm not imaginative enough… but my nights are never filled with visions, pleasurable or otherwise. But now, sometimes I'm almost afraid that I am somehow living in a dream and in those moments I have to repeat those words in my head just to reassure myself that this is real… _He came back_.

There is no pattern to his visits. Sometimes he'll arrive in the early evening when I've just arrived home from work and we'll have dinner together and then he'll leave again. Sometimes he'll arrive late and we'll curl up on the couch and talk or watch TV before we go to bed. And sometimes on the weekend he'll arrive mid-morning and we'll spend the whole day together.

Sometimes he'll come as often as 3 or 4 times a week, sometimes twice in a row… and sometimes it'll be a week or a week and a half before I see him again.

But he always comes back. It's like an unspoken promise between us. He'll always come back and I'll always be here waiting.

His arrival is always the same. He knocks on the door. Three knocks; never two or four, always three. When I answer he smiles up at me and I move aside to let him in. Occasionally we'll talk but mostly, in the first few minutes, our communication is of the silent variety.

The shutters are still closed behind his eyes and the smile on his face is slightly wooden. He disappears almost immediately into the shower and he'll emerge half an hour later, dressed in my clothes (although now they feel more like his clothes), hair damp and skin still slightly pink from the hot water.

Sometimes I wonder about the rationale behind those customary showers. Does he feel dirty? Is it his life that makes him feel like that? Or is it coming and spending time with me that just makes him realise it? Does he think that I think he's dirty? Does he think I wouldn't want to be with him if he didn't clense himself?

These are the questions that linger on my lips every time he shuts that bathroom door. But somehow, I never quite managed to find the words to ask. Maybe it's because I get distracted, maybe it's because, subconsciously, I don't want to know the answers, or maybe it's because I'm simply not articulate enough to form a coherent sentence.

All I know is that when he does return the shutters are up and I can stare into those incredible blue/violet eyes and see… just him… and nothing else really matters after that.

I find myself living for the precious minutes I get to spend with him. I count the hours between his visits. It's pathetic, I know, but something compels me and if you asked me to calculate the minutes we've spent together and the minutes we spent apart, I could tell you because it's a sum I've done more that once in my mind.

Every morning I wake hoping that I'll get to see him that day and every night I go to bed feeling either elation or disappointment. It's an endless cycle and sometimes it feels like it's tearing me apart and sometimes it feels like that doesn't matter.

But I also feel guilty. Every time I see him standing there on the other side of my door, looking up at me with a slight sense of desperation, I feel guilty… guilty because, in those moments, I feel a happiness so overwhelming that it almost feels like my compact frame will not be able to contain it… guilty because, in those moments, I rarely stop to think about the no doubt horrible circumstances that compel him to escape in my direction.

He never really talks about his life. Sometimes he'll reveal the odd detail; he'll arrive slightly bruised or distressed and as I try my hardest to patch him up again, he'll start to talk. But mostly we just avoid the subject. It hurts him to talk about it and, to be perfectly honest, it hurts me to hear it. But, that said, I'll always listen when he needs me to.

In the beginning there were plenty of awkward moments between us. Moments of tension, of uncertainty… moments when either one of us would be defensive or unsure… it's only natural, I guess, when you have two relative strangers with nothing in common trying to form some sort of a relationship.

But with each visit we get to know each other a little better and we become a little more open. I'm honored and grateful that he trusts me enough to let his guard down around me. And I'm surprised and delighted that I trust him enough to do the same.

And he laughs more. His laughter was probably the thing I missed most when I first met him again and realised he had changed. I missed the sound of his voice as a chuckle builds in his throat, waiting to be released… I missed the twinkle in his eyes.

But gradually, it's starting to come back. It is slow progress, of course, but he reminds me more and more every day of the boy I met all those years ago. And that in turn, makes me smile more and more.

Of course he still has his hollow moments just as I still have my stubbornly blank, uncommunicative moments; we can't be expected to be ourselves all the time. But he seems less empty, less lost… and there are even times when, dare I say it, I think he's actually happy. Sometimes I think that's just wishful thinking but then he smiles at me, one of those proper, beaming smiles… and happiness doesn't seem so elusive.

I think we're friends now. We weren't friends before… in fact, I'm not entirely sure what we were. But that doesn't matter because we're friends now. I don't even know how or why or when that shift occurred, I'm just grateful that it did. There is just something about the way we interact, something that reminds me of the easy co-existence I shared with Quatre or Wufei. We're comfortable talking to each other about the inconsequential things or about the immense things. But we are also comfortable just existing together in silence, content with quiet companionship… that feels like friendship to me.

I've managed to somewhat temper my attraction to him. I say somewhat because I still have my moments when it is all I can do to restrain myself from touching him. But it's like my desire for him has become a gentle, ever-present flickering flame rather than a raging fire; but it's always there, somewhere deep inside me, along with a certain amount of hope.

And sometimes I could swear he feels the same. Sometimes there will be something lingering behind his smile, his words, his touches… something that makes me think that he wants me just as much as I want him. But those moments always pass before I can get a proper fix on them and so now I'm unsure. Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. Or maybe… just maybe…? Never mind.

But I'll never act on these feeling. Partly because I'm still not entirely sure what that would entail exactly and partly because I'm afraid of the rejection I would invariably face. But mainly because Duo doesn't need another slavering pervert chasing him. I respect him too much to reduce our relationship to physical urges.

It's mid-December now. The nights are getting frosty and the daytime is marked by bitter winds. Too cold, really, to be standing on my balcony, but of course that doesn't stop me. My eyes scan the dark expanse of skyline before me, dotted with tiny flickering specs of light. Duo is out there somewhere… I wonder if he is as chilled as I am.

The wind whips past my face, ghosting over my flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But behind me I can feel the heat escaping from the living room through the slight crack in the balcony doors. The warmth seeps through my jeans, caressing the backs of my legs.

I always keep the heat high in the apartment. Sometimes it's almost too hot and I find myself walking around in a t-shirt and shorts. But I want it to always be warm for Duo. I want him to always feel that sense of relief that you feel when you come in out of the cold.

I wince. I feel a bit guilty about that really… like I'm purposely trying to entice him back here so I can satisfy my own selfish need to spend time with him.

I once confessed this to him. It was late at night. He had arrived late and we'd gone straight to bed. We were laying side-by-side, almost touching, but not quite. His breath was steady; I had thought he'd already fallen asleep and that my confession would go unheard.

I was slightly uncomfortable and ashamed when I realised he was awake and had heard my every word. But he squeezed my hand briefly under the covers and told me that he didn't mind. Even weeks later, I can still hear his whisper in the darkness, can still feel his hand in mine.

I have every memory of every moment I've spent with him filed away in my mind just in case I lose him and that's all I have left.

Can't it really be over a month since that Friday night when I first sought him out? It doesn't feel like that long and yet one brief glance at the calendar will confirm that he has been back in my life for nearly a month and a half. Those first few days seemed to go on forever, time stretching endlessly between his visits. But now it is as though someone has pressed the fast forward button. The days gallop past. Sometimes it feels like I'm in a fast car speeding down a highway, days and events speeding by my window like a blurred landscape.

Soon it will be Christmas and then the New Year will dawn. And soon… soon my contract with the Chicago office will end and I'll have to go back to New York.

I shiver violently. I'm not sure whether it was due to the cold night wind or the thought of leaving. No, that's a lie. That horrible churning sensation I feel in my stomach, the sudden chill… they have nothing to do with the weather. It's just… I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to leave when the time comes. I don't think I could bear it; I don't think I could do that to Duo… or to myself.

I'll have to talk to Dorothy, see if I can persuade her to extend my time here in Chicago. Trouble is, I'm not the most persuasive of men; I'm not exactly a natural sweet-talker. And really, from what I've observed of Dorothy Catalonia so far, she's not generally very inclined towards empathy; compassion is not something she possesses in liberal amounts, if at all.

Perhaps Relena will help me. Strong, resourceful Relena… she likes me and I'm fairly sure she'd be willing to assist me if I could ever bring myself to ask for her help. But even Relena's influence on Dorothy is limited and I'm struck by the sudden desperate thought that this is futile.

Below me, a car horn blares followed by a screeching of brakes and a string of curses. As the cars speed away from each other, road rage barely contained, I find myself praying to every deity I've ever heard of that for the first time in her high-powered executive life, Dorothy will decide to take a day off from being a complete bitch. Hmmm, that'll be the day.

My thoughts tumble endlessly around in my mind like clothes in a washing machine. By the time the spinning stops I'm thoroughly confused and all my musings have been condensed into one single thought: Duo. This is getting me nowhere.

I peer up at the inky black sky above me. A thick blanket of cloud hovers overhead and I wonder if it's going to snow. I shiver again, goosebumps forming even under the thick layer of clothes I'm wearing. I take one last deep breath and turn away from the smoky mantle of darkness that cloaks the city, retreating back into my apartment.

I'm halfway through the washing up when the phone rings. I reach for the receiver automatically. Flecks of soap suds form little rivulets that trickle down my arms, soaking into the rolled-up cuff of my shirt. I frown.

For some inexplicable reason I'm expecting it to Duo. It's completely irrational; Duo has never called me before and I doubt he'd suddenly start now, but still, as I raise the phone to my ear, part of my mind is waiting to hear Duo's voice.

"Heero Yuy," I state.

"Heero! How are you?" Wufei's voice hums down the phone line.

"Wufei!" I reply, successful in my attempt to keep the disappointment from creeping into my tone. I confess I'm a little surprised to be hearing from Wufei. Although we are very close, he is not usually the type to call and check up on me; he tends to leave that to Quatre. Instead of replying to his question, I counter with one of my own. "Did Quatre tell you to call me?"

Wufei doesn't hesitate before answering. "Yes." I smile; I've always appreciated his frankness. "Quatre said you were lonely and implied that if I were a good friend I'd call to make sure you were OK. And you didn't answer my question… how are you?" Wufei repeats, a hint of a smile in his tone.

"You can tell Quatre that I'm fine," I tell Wufei and he laughs.

"I'll pass that on, although I doubt that will stop him from worrying about you."

"I should never have called him," I say, even though I'm still rather glad that I did. "Anyway, now that we've established that I'm fine, how are you?"

"Not bad," Wufei replies. "Thankfully, Sally has finally finished her exams. I've been walking on egg shells for weeks, trying to survive without getting my head bitten off." Wufei laughs. His tone is light but there is a faintly peeved undercurrent and I can imagine Sally rolling her eyes as she listens to him.

"Her exams went well?" I inquire. I suddenly struck by how nice it is to hear Wufei's voice… low and slightly clipped, strangely reassuring. It makes me realise how much I miss him, as a friend and as a flat-mate. I'm sure he doesn't miss me; Sally is probably much better company than I ever was.

"She did very well." He doesn't elaborate but even through the slightly crackling phone line I can hear the pride in his voice. Although he would never say it in so many words, Wufei is completely and utterly enamored with Sally and it is times like these that betray just how much he does care about her.

I smile. "Well, give her my congratulations."

Wufei's voice is slightly muffled as he relays my message. In the background Sally's voice is husky as she laughs. "Thanks Heero!" she calls to me across the room.

"She graduates in two weeks, just before Christmas and then starts work as an intern at John James Memorial Hospital." Wufei's voice is clearer again.

I remember that hospital well even though I've only ever been there once. In fact, it was the first and only time I've ever been to the ER. I was walking home from college one night and a young punk tried to mug me. Unfortunately for him my reflexes are fast and somewhat ingrained and within moments he was on the ground with a broken leg. I immediately felt guilty; sometimes I don't know my own strength. I took him to the ER at John James and we waited for 3 hours in awkward, pained silence, neither of us really wanting to discuss the robbery or the assault. I left as soon as a doctor came to see him.

I was halfway home when I realised that he'd actually been successful in his attempted robbery. I went back to the ER and asked for my wallet. Still in a state of shock, he handed it over. The doctor returned and asked if we were friends. I left again.

I belatedly realise that Wufei is still talking. "It'll be a nightmare trying to coordinate our schedules. I've just started working on a really big case and I'm hoping to get second chair for the trial." There is a faint trace of pride in his voice as he discusses his work and I smile. "And even if I don't, the experience and exposure of such a high-profile case will be a great benefit. But Sal and I were thinking of going away for a few days early in the New Year before we both get excessively busy… you know, spend some time together."

I give the appropriate 'that sounds nice' type of murmur and wait for him finish. "Are you still coming home for Christmas?" he asks a moment later.

I'd forgotten about that. Before I left Quatre cornered me and made me promise that I'd return for the holidays. And part of me does want to go back… some of the best memories I have of my friends are of the Christmases we've spent together. But then I think about Duo and I know I won't be returning to New York.

"Sorry, I think I have to work." I wince internally at the lie.

"Quatre won't be happy." I can hear the smile twisting across his face as he says it.

"Do you want to tell him for me?" I ask.

"Be a man, Yuy," Wufei replies. In the background, Sally says something about Wufei needing some work in that area himself. Wufei growls and I laugh.

Some time later, Wufei heaves a sleepy sigh. "Well, I'll let you go, it's getting late," he says, having finally finished his 20 minute dissertation on the current political climate.

"Hn. Thanks for calling, Wufei, it was nice to hear from you," I say automatically. "Give my love to Sally." We say goodbye and I wait for the click as he hangs up before I replace the receiver.

I feel slightly more content for having had some contact with Wufei. I don't have the same sort of relationship with him as I do with Quatre but every discussion we have, however brief or one-sided it may have been, always leaves me with a strange sense of calm. It always strikes me as rather odd that someone as intense as Wufei should have this sort of effect on me but then, the intricacies of friendship are often inexplicable.

I consider waiting up to see if Duo comes. It's a Thursday night and it's been 4 days since his last visit. But by 11pm my eyes are starting to itch and blur from the glow of the TV. I retreat to bed and sleep claims me unusually quickly.

A loud creak jolts me back into consciousness. I blink rapidly in the darkness, trying to wipe the sleepy haze from my mind. There it is again. I'm just about to slide out of bed, my hand already searching for something I can use as a weapon, when the door creaks open.

"Heero?"

I sink back into the mattress, the tension in my body instantly washing away in the wake of that whispered voice. "Duo?" My voice is still croaky from sleep. My gaze finds the bedside clock; the red numbers flash 4am. "How did you get in?" is the first thing that comes out of my mouth and I curse myself for my unintentionally harsh tone.

"The front door was unlocked," Duo replies. He's still standing in the doorway and makes no move towards me. "I knocked but you didn't answer," he says a moment later.

I don't really hear his last comment. I'm momentarily stunned by the fact that I somehow failed to lock the door. The simple action of turning the key and sliding the bolts across is a regular part of my nighttime routine. It comes after turning off my computer and checking that the kitchen taps aren't dripping, but before I turn all the lights off. This is a regular schedule, so natural that I don't even need to think about it. How could I have missed something?

"I can leave if you want." Duo's offer drags me out of my pedantic thoughts.

"No, no, it's fine. Please stay," I say hurriedly. My hand finds the lamp and light floods the room. We both wince at the brightness, our heads instinctively turning away.

My eyes adjust and I turn back to where Duo is still hovering. He looks awful; pale and exhausted and slightly twitchy. His fists are clenching and re-clenching restlessly and his eyes are darting around the room, refusing to settle.

"Sure?" he asks, his eyes finally resting on me, his gaze finding mine.

I nod. "Of course."

He smiles but it feels more automatic than genuine. It's been a while since I've seen that look and it has me worried. I open my mouth to ask if he's OK but the words catch in my throat. Duo doesn't notice; he turns away to open my chest of drawers. He reclaims the clothes that have now become irrevocably his and then disappears into the bathroom, his braid swinging ever so gently across his leather-clad shoulders.

I hear the sound of the shower running and I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing up. I go through my routine again. I check that my computer is off and then I check the kitchen taps. Finally I reach the front door. Duo has locked it but I unlock it and then re-lock it anyway. I flick the lights off as I retreat and then I curl myself back up in bed.

Duo emerges sooner than I am expecting. His skin is slightly flushed from the hot water and the dark make-up around his eyes has been washed away. His braid is slightly damp but he hasn't taken the time to wash it. His fingers fiddle gently with the hem of my shirt before he looks up at me. He looks calmer and this time his smile has a little bit more of its usual warmth.

He drops his old clothes on the floor beside the bathroom door. I've long since stopped being irritated by this violation of my neat, clean orderliness. In fact, now I even rather like it. It's a visual reminder, tangible proof that Duo is here with me.

Duo shuffles across the room. He slides in beside me, the mattress dipping ever so slightly under his weight. Instantly I can feel his warmth seeping across the bed towards me. I bite back a sigh. I switch the lamp off and the room is plunged back into darkness as I settle back against the pillows.

"Someone broke into my flat," Duo says after several moments. His tone is a mixture of angry and upset.

I grope blindly in the gloom and eventually my hand finds his and our fingers twine together. "What happened?" I ask eventually.

"Joe dropped me off and the door was busted open… place was pretty trashed." He pauses and there is a slight catch in the back of his throat when he speaks again. "They took your watch."

I've never heard Duo sound so vulnerable, so wretched. Duo, who prides himself on his strength, his ability to maintain a brave face, now sounds so very close to breaking.

I tug gently on his hand and I feel him shuffle across the mattress towards me. He curls into my side, his cheek against my bare shoulder. My arms wrap around him, secure but not constricting.

I think I was expecting him to cry, but he doesn't. I probably should have known that. He shudders slightly; his hand is flat against my stomach and I can feel it trembling. I try to imagine what Quatre would do in the situation. He's far better at calming distressed people than I am. In the end, I go with my instinct, raising one hand and gently stroking the length of his braid, my fingers lightly grazing down his spine.

He tenses the moment he feels my hand on his hair but then he relaxes into my embrace. The trust he is placing in my hands is palpable and a lump forms in my throat, the prelude to tears that, of course, don't fall.

He drifts into sleep very quickly and after a while my hand stills, my fingers lightly curling around the end of his braid, inexplicably possessive. And fairly soon, the warm solid weight of his body pressed against mine lulls me back into sleep as well.

Morning comes quicker than I would have liked. It feels like I've been asleep for barely a few minutes when my internal clock rouses me once more. Duo hasn't shifted much during the night. He is laying on his side, slightly turned in towards me, his head resting on my bicep; his breath ghosts across chest and I shiver uncontrollably. His arm is still draped across my middle, and an uncomfortably warm sensation unfurls in my stomach before moving southwards.

Evidently this is one of those moments when my attraction to Duo flares from a single flame to a raging fire and I'm painfully aware of how aroused I am right now. I'm usually fairly good at controlling my bodily reflexes. Self-control is something I prize myself on but Duo is just so close and so tempting and now I think it is fairly safe to say most of my precious discipline has gone out of the window.

Duo stirs slightly, his arm gliding across my bare flesh. I swallow awkwardly, suddenly aware of how easy it would be for Duo to wake at this very moment and how mortified I'd be if he saw me in this state.

Ever so gently, I extract myself from beneath Duo's weight. He frowns slightly as I lower him gently to the pillow. I stand by the bed for several minutes, disappointed by the loss of his warmth. When he stirs again, I step back unconsciously and then, turning swiftly, I seek refuge in the bathroom.

A steady stream of hot water beats down on my tense shoulders. I roll my head to the side, my neck cracking slightly as the water sluices over my shoulders and down my back. I duck my head under the shower, closing my eyes.

I can still feel the sensation of Duo's bare skin against mine and I feel caught somewhere between torture and pleasure.

And I can't help myself. I have to touch myself; I'm just _that_ achingly hard. I close my eyes and I can almost imagine that it is Duo's hand running across my slippery, flushed skin. My hand pumps faster and faster up and down my erection until I'm panting, the sound of my harsh breathing only just covered by the thunder of the running water.

I don't last long and I'm thankful for it. At the exact moment that I find my release, a picture of Duo, sleeping peacefully just beyond the bathroom door, flashes in my mind and mingled with the pleasure is a sense of shame. In spite of all my declarations about respecting Duo too much to reduce our relationship to physical desire, there are just those moments when hormone-induced urges are all I can think about. However much I would like to deny it, I am only human after all.

I watch as the water washes away all the evidence of my self-indulgence and even after I've finished washing myself, I stay in the shower for a full ten minutes more. I finally manage to force myself out of the cubicle where I stand on the soft white bathmat and dry myself perfunctorily but then I freeze again, hesitant about re-entering my bedroom and seeing the man I've just been fantasising about.

In the end, the willpower that I rather spectacularly misplaced earlier returns and I force myself across the threshold and back into the darkened bedroom. My eyes adjust almost instantly to the gloom and I can see the shape of Duo's body, curled up in my bed. I swallow heavily, turning away and dressing quietly. By the time I've managed to get myself out into the living-room, I'm feeling slightly calmer, slightly more under control, and that's a relief.

This morning my stomach churns at the thought of the sweetly saccharin crunch of Fruit Loops so I choose muesli instead. I eat distractedly, my thoughts continually returning to the sleeping man in the other room.

Just as I'm draining the bowl, my eyes flick upwards, catching sight of the green numbers flashing on the microwave clock. It's just gone five past eight. I push my chair hurriedly away from the table and deposit my bowl in the sink.

I open the bedroom door a mere sliver, just enough for me to peer inside. I really should wake him. I have to leave or else I'll be late for work. But he looks so peaceful, so beautiful.

I hesitate. I've never left him alone in my apartment, we haven't yet cross the line where I'm comfortable having him here in my own personal space without me. "Do I trust him?" I'm shocked to realise that I've spoken those words aloud, but as soon as they've left my mouth I know the answer and I close the door again as quietly as I can.

My fingers reach for a pen and then, in my fluid, neat script, I write a note: _Duo – Had to go to work. You're welcome to stay as long as you want. I'll be home by 6. Lock the door if you leave… Heero._

As I leave the single sheet of paper on the kitchen table, the corner just tucked under the box of Fruit Loops, I smile faintly at this strange reversal of roles… this time I'm the one leaving.

I'm late and I have to run for train, but I just make it on time and soon I'm speeding away across the city, trying not to think of what I've left behind. I wonder if this is what Duo feels like every time he leaves me behind in that flat.

I work through lunch. I don't do it intentionally but one moment it's 10:30am and I'm engrossed in creating perfection out of a jumbled program draft and the next moment it's 2:00pm and Relena is standing in my doorway, hands on her lips and one eyebrow raised, looking distinctly unimpressed.

I meet her gaze dispassionately, my fingers still dancing across the keyboard. She frowns delicately. "Do you remember that conversation we had months ago when you promised that you'd stop being such a recluse?" she asks, tapping her chin gently with one perfectly painted pink fingernail.

"Hn," I respond, my gaze flickering back to the computer screen. I don't recall making any such promise. As I remember it, Relena dragged me down to lunch, insisting that I stop hiding myself away. Evidently she took my total lack of response to mean that I agreed. Sometimes I wonder if Relena is selectively deaf and blind… if she sees and hears only what she wants to. It would probably explain a lot.

"Would it kill you to make an effort?" she persists. I'm not sure I understand her perseverance; I'm sure my company isn't worth the trouble.

"It might," I reply glibly, not looking up.

She tuts loudly. "You're hopeless, Heero," she says. Out of the corner of my eye I see her shake her pretty blonde head and turn away to leave.

"Relena?" I ask suddenly.

She halts instantly and turns back. "Yes, Heero?" she purrs.

I pause, my fingers finally stilling. The room is suddenly very quiet without the constant click-clacking of fingers on keys. Relena saunters across the room and sinks gracefully into the chair on the other side of my desk.

"What do you know about my contract?"

"Contract?" Relena asks, her brow furrowing in incomprehension.

"With Tanaki Industries. You work in Legal; you must have seen my contract at some stage," I elaborate.

"Well, yes, I suppose. Um… let me think." She pauses, her head inclined slightly to the right. "If I remember correctly, you have an ongoing contract with the company. You've been subcontracted to the Chicago office until some time in March?… and then I suppose you'll go back to New York for the remainder of your indenture," she pauses and watches me carefully. "Why do you ask? You strike me as the type who knows his contract inside out and back to front."

"Hn. Just wondering. Would you check for me? I was thinking that I might like to stay in Chicago a while longer," I say vaguely.

She raises one eyebrow, intrigued, but thankfully she doesn't ask me why. "I'll look it up next time I'm in the contract archives," she says as she stands. "You could always ask Dorothy," she suggests. I raise one eyebrow sardonically. "Or maybe not," Relena finishes, skirting around the desk and stopping beside me. She touches my arm gently and smiles with mock coyness. "I'm always here if you need someone to talk to," she murmurs.

I don't respond. Instead I turn back to my computer, my fingers finding the keys once more. Relena snorts, surprisingly un-ladylike. I barely register the click of the door as she leaves.

The unmistakable sound of high heels on linoleum jerks me out of my focused daze. I'm expecting it to be Relena again but the figure that passes my open door is shorter and rounder and significantly less elegant. Cynthia from the front desk looks up as she passes by and is startled to find me watching her.

She tugs nervously at a loose strand of hair that has escaped her untidy bun. "Goodnight, Mr Yuy," she mumbles, nodding hesitantly.

"Goodnight," I reply curtly.

She smiles timidly and nods again before scurrying away. The sound of her high heels clattering on the linoleum echoes up and down the corridor long after she has disappeared.

Her brief presence has destroyed my concentration but it's not altogether unwelcome. The sky has already darkened and throughout this floor of the building I can hear others calling out their goodbyes, wishing each other a happy weekend and leaving.

My gaze finds the clock on the wall. It's just after six. I'm on my feet in an instance; I told Duo I'd be home by now. I gather my things and it's only as I'm waiting for the lift to take me downstairs that I realise that Duo probably won't be there, that he probably left hours ago.

It is twenty past six by the time I finally arrive at my apartment building. Earl the doorman smiles in greeting as he steps forward to open the door for me. "Evening, Mr Yuy," he says jovially as I cross the threshold. "Cold out tonight, ain't it?" he comments a moment later as the door closes behind me, ushering a sudden gust of cool wind into the lobby.

I nod automatically, not really hearing him. "Your friend left around lunch time. Came back, though. Been up there for a good few hours," Earl says and suddenly I'm all ears.

"He has?" I ask.

The question is directed more to myself than to Earl, but he answers anyway. "Yep. He's a funny one. Always comes at strange hours," Earl muses. I don't comment and, in fact, I'm halfway across the lobby by the time he finishes speaking.

I'm tingly with anticipation as I wait while the elevator bears me upwards. I had assumed that Duo would leave during the day. I never expected him to come back. I don't even realise I'm smiling until I'm standing outside my front door and I catch sight of my reflection in the shiny brass number plate.

My key fits into the lock with a click and the door swings open. The sound of the TV greets me as soon as I step over the threshold. Duo is curled up on the couch, flicking aimlessly through the channels.

"Hey," I say loud enough to be heard over the bright jingle of the advertisements. Duo jerks at the sound, twisting around in his seat.

He grins when he sees me. "Welcome home," he says with a slightly chuckle. "D'ya have a good day at work?"

My heart catches in my throat at his words. This feels so domestic… and it's bliss. I wonder briefly what it would be like to come home to Duo every night.

"Work was fine. How was your day?" I ask, hanging my coat up on the hook by the door and setting my briefcase down on the dining room table.

"Yeah, not bad. Bit weird to wake up and you were gone. Thanks for the note, but," he says and I smile. "I went to the shops. You were out of bread and I was hungry, so yeah. I found a spare key in the kitchen drawer, hope you don't mind. Don't worry, I put it back and all," he shrugs and sets the TV remote down on the coffee table, leaving the channel on a cartoon I don't recognise.

I walk into the kitchen and Duo follows a moment later. I pause by the sink, my hand on the handle of the top drawer. I take a deep breath. "You could… keep the key. I wouldn't mind," I say hurriedly.

It's an intimate gesture, I know, giving someone a key to your apartment… more intimate in some ways than sharing a toothbrush. It's the prelude to moving in together, the first major step in a relationship, a conscious decision to share your space, your life with someone else. But it feels natural; it feels like the right thing to do.

Duo doesn't say anything for several long minutes, so I turn back to face him. The expression on his face is rather adorable… half way between stunned and smiling. "Yeah?" he croaks after a while. I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. "Are you sure? I mean, I could rob you blind or something. Not that I would, yanno, but… um… it's a big step…" he trails off, looking distinctly irritated with himself or with his words or both.

"I trust you," I say with a smile, reaching into the drawer and extracting the key.

"Why?" he says bluntly.

"I just do," I say simply. I hold out the key and he takes it. He turns it over and over in his hands, staring at it wondrously.

"Thanks, Heero," he says softly, sincerely.

I smile again and for several long minutes we just look at each other. Eventually, I clear my throat, breaking the moment. "So, are you still hungry?" I ask.  
Duo's eyes light up. "Always."

I make an omelette while Duo hovers beside me, stealing bits of mushroom and tomato off the chopping board. I'm tempted to rap his knuckles with my spatula but in the end, I enjoy watching him as his fingers sneak across the counter and retract, popping his ill-gotten gains into his mouth, and so I pretend not to notice.

We sit on the couch with our plates in our laps. We've never once sat at the table to eat. I wonder if he remembers that night in my hotel room, the way the juice from his burger trickled down his chin and I wonder if he automatically moves to sit on the couch just as I do because he's subconsciously trying to recreate that moment.

Duo flicks from the cartoon channel to the news and we sit and eat in silence as we watch the good and the depressing flicker before our eyes.

Just as I'm setting my plate and cutlery down on the table, the sultry newsreader announces the return of Illinois' favourite former-Governor, home to spend the holidays with his daughter. A live clip of Senator Peacecraft arriving at the airport appears on the screen, Relena resplendent and beaming on his arm. My cutlery slips from my grasp and clatters noisily on the table top. Duo turns to me curiously before turning back to the TV.

"It's a delight to be home for the holidays," Senator Peacecraft booms, smiling. "I couldn't imagine being anywhere else for Christmas than with my darling daughter, Relena." Relena smiles and blushes, leaning up to kiss her father delicately on the cheek.

I'm surprisingly entranced by this image. It is strange to see Relena acting so demure and coy rather than the assertive, diplomatic woman I know. I realise that she's very adept at recognising what is expected of her and adjusting her behaviour accordingly.

"You right, Heero?" Duo asks, dragging my attention away from the TV.

"Fine. I work with Relena Peacecraft. It's strange to see her out of the office environment," I tell him, settling back into the couch as the newsreader announces another news story.

"Oh," Duo says. There is something in his voice that I can't quite place but he has turned back to the TV before I can ask him about it. The telecast turns to sport and within minutes I've forgotten about it.

It's nearly 8pm by the time Duo heaves himself up off the couch. He stretches rather inelegantly, his joints popping slightly, but I'm spellbound by the sight. He looks down at me and I hurriedly refocus my gaze on the TV.

"I should go," Duo says reluctantly. "Should probably go home and try 'n' clean up a bit… sort all that shit out before I go to… um, work." He massages the back of his neck with his hand, looking awkward.

"I could come with you," I suggest suddenly. "If you'd like. For moral support or something."

Duo hesitates, warring emotions flickering behind his eyes. I'm expecting a rejection of my offer; he tries so hard to be fiercely independent, to separate me from the rest of his life and I respect that.

It's a shock when he mumbles, "Yeah, that'd be nice," followed by a tiny smile. I'm off the couch in an instant before he can change his mind, already reaching for my jacket.

Usually at this stage, Duo would become silent and closed-off. He'd change into his street clothes and he'd leave quietly, his head bowed, his eyes blank. But tonight, he pulls his jacket on over my clothes and we leave the apartment together in companionable silence, Duo clutching a plastic bag that contains his original outfit. Duo locks the door with his new key, grinning. It feels fantastic to be going out with Duo like this. I can't help but smile as well.

We're halfway down the corridor when the elevator dings and the doors glide effortlessly open. Mrs. Astermeiker shuffles into the hallway, laden down with bags. She lives in the flat opposite mine, no. 3, and she is forever inviting me in for tea. When I first moved in, I would politely refuse but after a while I found myself feeling guilty about the crestfallen look on her face and I started accepting her offers.

She's a kind old lady. Slightly odd, perhaps, but very generous and welcoming. She's desperately lonely most of the time. Her husband died several years ago and with no children or grandchildren to visit her, she rattles around in that little flat alone with nothing but her memories.

It's worth putting up with her weak tea and her slightly stale chocolate chip cookies for the smile of happiness and appreciation that breaks across her face when I take the time to keep her company.

The elevator doors have just slid shut behind her when the handle of one of her plastic grocery bags breaks, spilling apples and oranges across the hall carpet. Duo and I move as one, hurrying forwards and helping her to scoop her shopping. We both reach for the same apple, our fingers touching gently. I smile, my hand lingering against his for a moment longer before retracting as I straighten up.

"Oh, thank you, Heero dear," Mrs. Astermeiker says gratefully.

"You're welcome," I reply promptly. We stand in the corridor for several minutes, Duo and I with armfuls of fruit, while Mrs. Astermeiker peers curiously from me to Duo. Her gaze lingers slightly longer on Duo's hair and his jacket.

"This is my friend, Duo," I perform the introduction. "Duo, this is my neighbour, Mrs. Astermeiker. She lives across the hall in no. 3."

Duo nods and smiles. "Nice to meet ya," he says, somewhat nervously.

Mrs. Astermeiker beams. "Oh, I'm so glad you've made a new friend," she exclaims, turning back to me. "And such a nice young man, though I do think you would benefit from a bit of a hair cut," she adds to Duo.

For a moment Duo looks like he's about to turn defensive but then he smiles. "Well, I kinda like my hair the way it is, but I'll think about it." Mrs. Astermeiker is instantly charmed and she smiles at me encouragingly.

We follow her back down the corridor and pause while she wrestles with her door. She drops her bags just inside the doorway and then holds out her hands and we pour her spilt groceries into her waiting arms. She dumps the fruit rather unceremoniously on the dining room table.

"Would you boys like to stay for tea?" she asks hopefully.

I glance across at Duo and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. "That's a very kind offer, Mrs. Astermeiker, but I'm afraid we really have to be going." Her face falls and one look at Duo tells me that he's feeling as guilty as I am.

"Oh, well never mind then," she says a moment later, smiling again. "Some other time, I suppose."

"We'd be delighted," Duo cuts in before I can speak. Mrs. Astermeiker beams again and then so do I.

Duo and I make our way downstairs in silence and it's not until we've emerged out onto the street that I speak. "She likes you," I say quietly.

"Yeah, she's a nice old lady," Duo smiles, pulling his jacket tighter around his thin frame.

"She'll be forever asking you in for tea, though," I warn him with a smile.

"I reckon I can handle that," he counters. "She seemed surprised by me," he says a moment later.

"Yes, well in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the most sociable of men, and my friends are few and far between," I reply. "In fact, I think, perhaps, you and she are the only friends I've made in Chicago." I consider adding Relena to that list, but in the end I'm not sure I want to try explain our relationship, or lack thereof.

"Your only friends are a weird old lady and a whore. That's pretty pathetic," Duo laughs, though it is somewhat bitter.

"Not from where I'm standing," I reply as we stop at the traffic lights. Duo doesn't return my gaze but the corners of his mouth do turn up ever so slightly.

The closer we get to Duo's part of town, the less responsive he becomes. I'm beginning to think that coming with him was a mistake. He's obviously uncomfortable by my presence.

We turn down a narrow side-street and as we pass by a darkened doorway, a figure steps out of the doorway. A clearly intoxicated or possibly stoned teenager lurches towards me, slinging his skinny arms around my shoulders. I resist the urge to shove him away, instead gently trying to disentangle myself.

His eyes are glazed and bloodshot as he gazes up at me. "You wanna go?" he asks me, slurring his words. "Pay extra and you can do me wiff out a condom."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Duo wincing. Two bright spots of pink have appeared on his cheeks. He looks desperately uncomfortable and somewhat ashamed.

"Er… No, thank you," I say as politely as I can, unhooking the teenager's arms from around my shoulders.

He stumbles backwards. "Whatever," he mutters. He retreats back into the gloom, sinking to the ground in a cross-legged heap. It's altogether a very depressing sight and I feel a wave of helplessness wash over me at the situation. I turn back to Duo but he's already halfway down the street, walking brusquely, his head down.

I run to catch up to him and after a few steps, he slows his pace slightly. "Sorry about that," he mumbles hollowly, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

"It's not your fault," I say softly. He doesn't answer and we walk the rest of the way in almost oppressive silence.

Duo's flat is… well, depressing to say the least. His meager belongings have been strewn across the floor, but even if the room had been in a semi-orderly state, the bare, empty, loneliness of it is clear. There are a few concessions towards home comforts but generally it looks like Duo has rather given up on this place ever being a home.

I shudder to think of Duo spending his nights in this place. It takes all my strength not to fall to my knees and beg Duo to come back with me, to leave this place behind. I never beg, I'm too stubborn. But in this case, faced with this reality, I would beg until my voice gave out.

Duo shuffles from one foot to the other, embarrassed. I try to find the words to say something reassuring but, for the life of me, I can't think of a single thing. I clear my throat several times but I'm still left lost for words.

Eventually Duo turns to me; his head is still bowed and he refuses to meet my gaze. "You should probably go. Joe'll be here to pick me up soon… you shouldn't be here," he mumbles.

"OK," I croak.

"Thanks for… um… yeah, thanks," Duo says as I step back out into the hallway. He closes the door before I have a chance to reply and I find myself saying "Anytime" to the worn, scratched wooden door. I hover in the corridor for several minutes, not entirely sure what I should do, what I want to do.

In the end, I acquiesce to Duo's request and I turn away, my feet scuffing on the worn stairs as I leave. I feel desperately helpless. There is nothing I can do.

I entertain thoughts of riding in like a knight on horseback but the truth of the matter is that, shining armor or not, I can't save Duo because ultimately he won't let me. There is nothing I can do.

It isn't until the following morning that it occurs to me that that isn't exactly correct. And suddenly I'm filled with a sense of purpose.

I reach for the telephone directory, my fingers flicking through the pages until I find the right section. There is a faint hint of a smile on my face as I copy down the relevant addresses. Mission accepted.

I arrive outside the first address. The paintwork above the shop reads "Mack's Pawnbrokers" but the 'w' and the 'k' are both faded beyond recognition giving the shop a rather disreputable appearance.

A bell tinkles as I open the door. The inside of the shop is dusty and a faint scent of damp and mould lingers in the air.

As I approach the front desk, a squat man with a large protruding belly waddles in from out the back. His sleeves are rolled up and tattoo of a fierce looking dragon emitting a fiery spurt of flames adorns his left forearm. He eyes me warily as I draw near.

"Mornin'," he grumbles; his voice is low and gravelly from years of chain-smoking. "You lookin' to buy, sell or borrow?" he asks.

"I'm looking for a watch," I begin.

"Yeah? Well, we got a real great range of nice watches," he says, tapping on the glass counter at the timepieces beneath.

"No, I'm looking for a specific watch. It's a one of a kind, gold-plated Cellinium Rolex, serial no. 2910/3. I don't care how or from whom you get it and I'm willing to give you double whatever you pay for it."

"Sounds interesting," Mack says, raising one eyebrow. "Valuable?"

"Yes, though mainly for sentimental reasons," I state.

"You ain't a cop or nothing?" Mack asks, suddenly apprehensive.

"No, here's my card." I slide it across the counter and he wraps his stubby little fingers around it, peering closer.

"Hmmm. Well, I'll give you a call if it crosses my path," he rocks back in his chair, suddenly looking very pleased with himself.

I smile tightly and leave. I pause on the street outside and glance down at my list. There are 34 other pawnbrokers in Chicago. I stride away determinedly. I will find that watch if it's the last thing I ever do.

TBC…

**Author's Notes: The scene with the kid as Heero and Duo are walking to Duo's place actually happened to me and a friend of mine the other night. I suppose that's what you get when you wander around the streets in the middle of the night. It was a heart-breaking sight and I just had to include it in this story.**

**Right, so is anyone feeling like reviewing? Because I'd love you forever if you did. Oh, and a huge, gigantic, enormous, mammoth THANK-YOU to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I can't believe I've gotten so many reviews so far and I really, truly do appreciate it. I swear, these reviews are addictive, I can't get enough of them… make me go all giddy and smiley. So please keep them coming – don't make me have to go cold turkey.**


	9. Part Two: Chapter Six

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: OMG! I am so sorry! I know I've taken simply forever to get this chapter out. I wasn't suffering from writer's block exactly… more like motivation block; I knew exactly what I wanted to write but for the life of me I simply couldn't force myself to sit down at the computer and write the damn thing! Thank you to Sky Lark, whose persistent prodding finally nudged me in the right direction.  
Anyway, I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and that it was less frenetic than mine (which is what happens when you gather a bunch of people as crazy as my family in the one room together). I had meant to get this chapter out last year but alas, yesterday decided that it hated me and wouldn't let me do a bloody thing. So I'm afraid this will have to be the first chapter of 2005 instead of the last chapter of 2004. Happy New Year everyone, let us all hope that this year will be better than the last.  
And I suppose you could review if you really felt like it. Oh, stuff the nonchalance on knees Please, review! Oh, come on! You know you want to!**

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Part Two – Chapter Six:

Duo

I pull the door closed behind me, waiting for a moment until I hear the familiar click of the lock sliding into place. I rattle the door knob gently and the whole door wobbles ominously.

I did a rather make-shift job of fixing the busted door after the break-in; I probably should have called in a lock-smith, or something, but I don't have the money. I'm sure Heero would lend it to me but I don't know if I could ever bring myself to ask.

But I must say I'm rather impressed by my handiwork. I mean, the lock wouldn't hold up against a large gust of wind let alone a burglar but at least the door isn't hanging off the hinges anymore.

I extract the key awkwardly from the lock; it's slightly bent. There are only two keys on my key ring. The first is a worn, dull bronze, the first signs of rust just beginning to appear in the grooves. The other is silver and shiny, twinkling in the flickering glow from the hallway light. One key fits the lock to my flat, the other to Heero's. I think it's fairly obvious which is which.

It scared me at first, when Heero offered me this key; it felt like by taking it, I'd be giving him a part of myself in return, and I wasn't quite sure if I was ready for that. The ability to trust others is not something I have in spades.

And if we're talking about trust and I'm being perfectly honest… I was scared because I didn't know whether I could trust myself either. I mean, let's face it; I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to nicking stuff. And I don't think I could live with myself if I did that to Heero again.

But so far, so good. And when I say good, I mean overwhelmingly fucking fantastic… and I really mean that; I haven't had a place where I can go to feel safe since the orphanage went up in smoke. But in that little apartment with its black and white interior and stretches of golden floorboards… I feel safer and more comfortable than I have anywhere else.

A month down the track and I know every inch of that place; every corner, every cupboard, every wall, floor and door. In the kitchen I don't have to ask where the cups are, my hand just moves automatically, landing in the right place every time. It almost feels like I live there. Almost being the key word. But even so, there are moments when he'll arrive home or I'll arrive home and it feels so natural that I can close my eyes and it is real.

Home. Did I just say that? I did, didn't I? And it is. It's home. Shit, I'm in way over my head.

You see, those moments… when I can't tell where Heero's space ends and mine begins, when it's just our space… they're addictive and I'm hooked like you wouldn't believe. And now the trick is not trying to stop myself from going there, it's trying to stop myself from staying. And I can't. I can't stay. I'm a street rat. I was born one and I'll die one… end of story. That's life; that's just the way it has to be… isn't it?

The flickering light overhead finally gives out, plunging the corridor into darkness with a faint 'pop'. I jump reflexively at the sound. I'm tense and edgy, filled with restless energy… not sure why. Maybe because I've spent the last half hour trying to psyche myself up for going out to work… maybe because I've spent the last half hour trying to keep myself from going straight to Heero instead.

I pause in the gloom of the darkened hallway and practice my yoga breathing; in and out, through my nose. Block out the rest of the world; focus your entire being on your breath and the calm control that extends through your body with every inhalation… I can hear Heero's voice in my head and a tiny smile slides across my face as I move across the hallway and down the stairs.

It's cold and icy when I finally emerge onto the street. I can feel the frost in the air, clinging to the inside of my throat whenever I breathe. I pull my jacket tighter around myself but the wind still slices through the tears in the leather, grazing across my bare skin. I shiver violently, crossing my arms across my chest and hunching over against the weather.

I'm two streets down when I hear my name, drifting down the alley towards me, carried on the bitter wind. My body tenses instinctively but I slow my pace ever so slightly, allowing my shadow to catch up to me.

"Pretty fucking freezing, ay?" A husky voice asks as a tall lean body falls in beside me.

I glance sideways, subtly. Hilde. I'd recognize her anywhere. She hasn't changed. I take a closer look, trying to see past the half frozen lips, faintly blue underneath the red lipstick, and the spiky hair, damp from the frost.

I don't even really know what I'm looking for but in the end I come to the conclusion that my initial response was right. She hasn't changed; she's still the same, just… older. She's probably only a few years older than me, about Heero's age or maybe slightly more, certainly this side of thirty, but there are lines beginning to appear on her face, lines of exhaustion and worry and desperation.

And yet, there it is. That smile, splitting across her face, revealing the same slightly crooked teeth that always gave her a mischievous look… the expression seeps into her eyes, illuminating a hint of a sparkle.

Hilde and I used to work the same patch, years ago before I fell in with Roly. It was a rough area and that's putting it nicely, but Hilde always had this amazing ability to make the best of a bad situation. She could look past all the shit we had to deal with and see hope, shining like a beacon at the end of the street. And even though she never reached it, it was enough for her to know that it was there. Know what I mean?

Anyway, she was pretty remarkable… and I think I used to be like that too. I think I used to see the world differently. I don't know when I lost it… some time after the night in Heero's hotel room. That was the trigger. That night, I got to the end of the street and I saw the hope, felt it all around me… and I walked away. And after that, no matter how hard I looked, the beacon just wasn't there anymore.

I think that was when Hilde and I stopped going around together. She once said that being with me after that was like being on downers. Looking back, I can see that she was right.

She nudges me with her elbow, jolting me out of my thoughts. "Haven't seen you round here lately," she says. There is a slightly rattle in the back of her throat, the prelude to the flu. As if on cue, she coughs violently. "Sorry," she apologises a moment later, with a laugh. "Bet I sound like nuthin' on earth." It's more depressing than funny but I laugh anyway.

"Ain't seen you laugh for years," she says softly, stepping closer and peering at me. She draws back looking thoughtful. "Like the old Duo is back from the dead," she finally concludes, somewhere between a question and a statement.

I don't really know what to say to that so for several minutes we just stand there in silence. But, you know what? I think she's right. Maybe the old Duo is back... or at least a shadow of him. All I know is that, right now, I feel more like myself than I have for years.

"Something like that," I say eventually.

She laughs throatily. "'Bout fucking time." The last word is lost as she lapses into another coughing fit. We walk down the rest of the street, silent save for her rasping splutters.

She clears her throat loudly, turning her head and spitting on the ground. "So, you still working wiv Roly?" she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

I nod. "Yeah, s'not bad. Safer, yanno?"

This time it's her turn to nod. "Yeah, if only the rest of us were so lucky." My head jerks sideways to look at her. It's a bit of a shock to hear that word. Lucky? Most of the time I don't feel lucky, but I suppose I am. My life could be a hell of a lot worse. I'm not sure if this is a good realisation or a bad one, but in the end I suppose it doesn't matter because I do feel slightly better. There's nothing like a bit of perspective to make life and the universe seem more bearable.

I reach out and grab the cuff of her denim jacket, pulling gently so she turns to face me. "I could talk to Roly," I suggest. "Maybe he'd take you on." Even as I say it, I know there's no hope. Roly is very selective about the people he choses to work with. You have to have something really unique, really striking to catch his attention.

She laughs and I'm relieved that my blunder hasn't gotten her hopes up. "Yeah, as if. Let's face it, Duo, I ain't got what you got, the looks…" she trails off as one hand reaches out to me. Reflex takes over and I flick my braid out of the way, a well-practiced movement that my body performs almost subconsciously.

Her fingers brush against thin air and then her arm falls limply back to her side. "The looks," she repeats with a laugh. "The moves. You've got the whole package, eh?"

"You taught me everything I know," I remind her.

"And don't I know it. Wish I hadn't. Then maybe I'd be the one walking 'round wiv Roly's bodyguards." Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded bitter, but Hilde just laughs, shrugging. "S'life, I s'pose."

We reach the end of the street and pause. "I gotta go," I say, meeting her steady gaze.

"Don't we all?" she jokes, nudging me with her elbow again. I chuckle ever so slightly and she grins. "Yanno, whatever brought back the old Duo has my blessings," she says, patting my cheek affectionately.

And this time, I really smile. "Yeah, mine too."

I start to leave. Once upon a time we would have hugged, we used to be close, she and I. But this time, we don't; it doesn't feel as right as it once would have. But we share a smile and Hilde winks at me, grinning crookedly.

I'm about ten metres away when I hear her calling me back. "Oh, hey I forgot to ask! That guy ever find you?"

I pause, confused, and then walk back towards her. "What guy?"

"This guy was lookin' for you. Tall, messy hair… funny eyes," she scratches her cheek, struggling to recall the details. "Said he needed ta talk to you. He looked real desperate, like, so I told him where you was working. Hope I did the right thing. He seemed decent, yanno?"

I smile and this time it feels right. I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her thin shoulders and squeezing gently. "You did right," I whisper.

When we draw apart, she looks puzzled, one eyebrow raised in question. I shake my head and step back. "Long story," I say.

"Does it end with the Prince and Princess riding off into the sunset to live happily ever after?" she asks.

It's a strangely sobering question, one I don't really know how to answer; one I'm not sure I want to answer.

"Dunno," I say finally. "Probably not. But yanno, sometimes it ain't about the ending, it's about the journey," I conclude enigmatically.

"Since when have you been so deep?" she asks, sceptically.

"Since I started doing yoga," I reply flippantly.

"Yoga? Shit, man, we've lost you forever now." She grins. "It's nice to have the old Duo back. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

I don't answer; she's already turned away, disappearing back into gloom. I wait for several minutes until I can no longer hear the sounds of her plastic stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, and then I turn and continue on my way.

A black Ute is parked on the corner of the next block. The engine is off but the light in the cabin in on and I can just make out the silhouette of the occupants.

I heave the door open, wincing at the metallic groan of the car's battered body. "You're late," Smokey says gruffly. He's halfway through rolling a cigarette, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

"Had to get my beauty sleep," I reply, sliding into the car beside him.

Smokey doesn't reply but Joe snorts at me from the driver's seat, reaching for the ignition. The car roars into life with a spluttering cough and then we lurch away down the street.

It's five in the morning by the time I finally finish. Smokey is leaning against the bonnet of the Ute, his ubiquitous curl of smoke trickling out of his nostrils and swirling away on the wind. He looks up at me as I emerge from the hotel and then down at his watch. Finally he looks back up to me and nods silently. I breathe in relief.

Smokey stubs his cigarette out on the side of the car before sliding inside. Joe peers across him from the driver's seat.

"You wanna lift home, Duo?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Nah, I'll walk," I say, just as a huge gust of wind comes sweeping down the street, lifting my braid off my shoulders.

Joe laughs and I just hear his words over the roaring of the engine, "Crazy fucker!" A thick black puff of smoke escapes the exhaust-pipe with a rattle as the car pulls away from the curb and speeds away down the street.

I am halfway home when I stop still on the gloomy street. Torn, I hesitate in the darkness. In the end, my strength leaves me; I'm too tired and worn to fight this internal battle tonight. I take a sharp right and keep walking. I don't stop until I'm standing outside the familiar building and the doorman is stepping forwards to welcome me in, to welcome me home. And I smile.

Heero jolts awake the moment I open the bedroom door. His eyes glow like lamps in the darkness as he blinks at me and his shoulders are tense; even in the dim gloom I can make out the sculpted curve of his muscles.

He exhales slowly and then lowers himself back to the mattress, his head finding the pillow and his eyes flickering closed again.

I shower, taking longer than I normally would. Usually I'm terribly conscious of how Heero's hot water bill must have swelled since I started coming here, but today, in the wee small hours of the morning, I relish the feeling of the hot water skimming over my shoulders and down my back. All the dirt is washed away, the make-up, the sweat, the foul stench of Smokey's cigarettes… and I feel clean.

Heero's back is towards me when I finally emerge from the bathroom, dressed but my skin still flushed and the end of my bangs slightly soggy. I slide into the bed beside him as gently as I can. He stirs momentarily but doesn't wake. I shuffle across the mattress towards him, pausing only when there is barely a few inches between us.

A treacherous thought crosses my mind. It would just be so easy to reach out and touch him and I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands down the smooth, muscled planes of his back. It's really very tempting… I have to bite my lip to restrain myself from doing something stupid.

It's moments like these that I'm reminded of just how complex my relationship with Heero really is. I mean, sometimes it feels like we're just friends… no, that's not really the right word… mates, we're just mates; we can laugh and joke together and things are light and easy. But sometimes it feels like more than that… when we talk or even sometimes when we don't, it feels like he's the only person that really knows me and understands me, and in those moments the words 'friend' and 'mate' just don't seem to do justice to our connection. And then just to complicate things even further, there are yet other times when I want him so much I could scream and every touch or gesture feels like electricity. And even within those moments when I decided that really what I want is something more than friendship, there is a further range of emotions that just confuse me even more; sometimes I want him kissing me, touching me, inside me, around me… and sometimes I just want him to hold me and love me.

And sometimes, I'll catch his eye and I know that if I were to ask him to do any of those things, ranging from the purely platonic to the blatantly sexual, he would. I'm not used to having that sort of power and there are times when it feels like such a reversal of roles; I never really know what to do with it and so even in our most comfortable moments, I still feel like there's this sort of uncertainty.

I try to keep my feelings guarded, to avoid having to confront that ambiguity, having to confirm it one way or the other. I always picture Heero that first night I met him, so stiff and blank and I try to act like that.

But of course, there are times when neither my acting nor Heero's expressionless mask can hide it; we'll brush against each – in the kitchen making dinner or in bed at night or in the morning mid-way through our yoga – and I think we both know and something will almost happen between us. But I always pull back at the last moment and nothing ever actually does.

And that confuses Heero, making him more uncertain and even more reluctant to act. Sometimes I think I'm sending him mixed signals and I feel guilty for messing him around like that. But mostly I think I've managed to make it clear that we're just friends, however many rebellious thoughts I might have about it being otherwise.

But it's for the best. I mean, let's face it; a relationship between us would never work out, would it? I've been with ever horny pervert under the sun while Heero is… well, I don't know what he is, but he certainly deserves better than me.

Like that blonde, leggy, what's-her-face from the TV… the senator's daughter. She's gorgeous; perfect figure, perfect smile… the sort of girl you wouldn't be ashamed to take home to meet your parents. Heero deserves someone like her. They'd be perfect together. I bet they'd have beautiful children which her grace and pretty blonde hair and Heero's amazing eyes.

They work together, too. It'd be like some perfect office romance which ends in a big beautiful wedding with her all dressed in flowing white and Heero looking so handsome in his penguin suit. I wonder if Heero would invite me to the wedding if they did get married.

Suddenly I feel this horrible knot in my stomach. My fingers clutch at the sheets unconsciously, my knuckles turning white. Relena… that's her name, Relena Peacecraft. I've never met her, I've only ever seen her once on a TV screen and yet I hate her. I know I shouldn't but I just can't help myself; this horrible bubble of jealously just rises up inside me whenever I think about her.

I force myself to relax, the sheet slips from my grasp, crinkled from where I've been gripping it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to control my heart rate. When I open my eyes again, I realise that I've managed to shuffle an inch closer to Heero. I can feel his body heat seeping into me across the tiny distance.

I sleep fitfully and in my dream I'm walking Heero down the aisle to where this blonde vision is waiting. He takes her hand and steps up to the altar without so much as even glancing back at me. And I'm all alone.

The sensation of falling wakes me again; I jerk back into consciousness, nearly falling off the mattress in my dazed state. The bed beside me is empty. It's half past twelve and Heero is long gone. Off to work where that pretty little bitch is waiting. You know, she's probably really nice and that just makes it worse. I groan and flip myself back over onto my stomach, burying my head in Heero's pillow. His scent surrounds me and I stay like that.

An hour passes before I finally manage to roll myself out of bed. My eyes are still droopy with sleep and my limbs are lethargic from previous exertion. I can't stomach the thought of trying to coordinate my movements enough to pull off the Salute to the Sun so, instead, I lurch into the kitchen, my hand automatically reaching for the Fruit Loops.

I take the cereal box and the milk through to the living room and fold myself up on the couch with a bowl and a spoon, the crunching of sugar and slurping of milk blending seamlessly with the b-grade sound affects of the mid-day movie.

I've munched my way through almost the entire pack of Fruit Loops before it occurs to me to stop. All that's left is a mere handful of fluorescent-coloured circles in the bottom of the box.

I feel guilty and slightly nauseous, capped off with a seething, twitching mass of sugar-induced energy.

My legs are still jiggling restlessly four hours later as the seven o'clock news begins. Heero's late and I am simultaneously having visions of him being run over by a subway and/or running away with his blonde colleague.

I switch off the TV and do a few rounds of the Salute to the Sun to try and expend some energy. It's counterproductive more than anything else; I fall over twice through lack of concentration and when I finally give up I'm feeling frustrated as well as restless.

In the silence of the apartment, the ticking of the clock on the mantle piece seems deafeningly loud; tick, tock, tick, tock. It's endlessly repetitive and within minutes hurling the damn thing out the window seems like a pretty good idea. But I doubt Heero would appreciate that.

Now the time seems to be ticking away faster just to spite me. Soon I'll have to leave to work and I won't have gotten to see Heero all day. OK, I know I'm pathetic but right now I could really use a friendly face.

I make a split second decision and reach for the phone. I dial the number quickly before I can talk myself out of it.

"Yeah?" Roly's voice is deep and gravely, scratched from years of smoking and drinking.

I take a deep breath. "It's Duo. I can't work tonight; I'm sick," I say hurriedly, trying to sound as weak and pathetic as possible.

"So? You've worked sick before," comes Roly's caring and sensitive reply.

"Yeah, but I look like shit," I lie. "Nobody's gonna want me looking like this." Silence follows and I wait for his response, my fingers drumming restlessly on the kitchen counter.

"Alright, I'll run someone else instead. But this better not become a habit, yeah? You're one of the top earners on my books but if you stop pulling your weight, I'll drop you in an instant." It's not a threat, merely a statement. "And I don't think either of us wants that, yeah?" he continues.

I nod, even though he can't see the gesture. He's right. I couldn't go back to the way I used to work. I've gotten soft, I know… relying on Smokey and Joe to back me up, relying on Heero to bring me back to life.

"But I still expect my cut for tonight… late notice and all," Roly adds, bringing me back to earth with a swift bump.

I sigh. I can't really afford to pay Roly and not make any money myself but by this stage, I'm beyond caring… all I want to do is curl back up on that couch and wait for Heero to come home.

"Fine, OK," I say reluctantly. Roly doesn't answer; instead, a shrill beep indicates that he has hung up. I follow suit feeling simultaneously relieved and depressed.

I have only just replaced the receiver when the phone rings. The sound startles me and I stumble backwards through the doorway into the living room, tripping over the rug and falling on my arse with a thud.

The answering machine clicks on after the sixth ring and Heero's voice fills the room, "You've reached Heero Yuy; leave a message after the tone."

For some inexplicable reason I'm expecting to hear Roly's voice again. I panic momentarily as I wait for him to speak, my mind whirling.

"Oh, hello Heero; it's Quatre." The relief I feel is palpable; my stomach lurches back into place as Quatre speaks again. "I was expecting you to be home by now… I hope you're not still at work."

I find myself smiling; I can't help myself… I've always wanted to have a friend that worried about me like that; someone who calls just because they care so much that they need to know that I'm OK.

Quatre's voice is soft and gentle but there is a certain strength to it; the voice of someone who gets underestimated a lot, but rather relishes proving assumptions wrong.

"I was ringing because Wufei said that you weren't coming home for Christmas like you had planned," Quatre continues. My heart leaps and I wonder if I'm the reason he changed his mind. "Trowa and I were thinking…" The voice cuts off and there is a low muffled rumble in the background as someone interrupts. Quatre clicks his tongue irritably. "Oh fine, _I_ was thinking that maybe we could come over and see you for New Years. You can say no if you'd rather we didn't or if you have other plans but we do miss you and would love to at least see you for a few days. Have a think about it and call me back. Trowa sends his love."

There is a muffled exchange and then, "Hello Heero," a smooth deep voice says. "Don't let Quatre bully you into anything." There is a stifled sound of indignation in the background and Trowa laughs. "You know you do," he says, his voice slightly muted as he hands the phone back.

"I'm going now." Quatre still sounds rather huffy. "Call me when you get home. And I mean that; I don't want to be hearing from you a week from now. Bye, Heero; take care of yourself."

Quatre hangs up and for a second time a shrill beep sounds. The sound of the front door opening is lost in the whirring noise of the answering machine tape rewinding but I swivel around when I hear Heero's voice.

"Duo?" he asks, looking down at me from the doorway. I must look like a complete nutter, sprawled on my arse on the floor underneath the phone. Heero's eyes flicker upwards to the answering machine, which has just given a final beep and then lapsed back into silence, and then back down again at me.

"Quatre just rang," I say. A momentary look of something that I can't decipher flickers across Heero's face before it is wiped blank again. "I didn't answer it," I reassure him immediately. "He left a message."

"Hn," Heero responds, turning away to hang up his coat, damp from the sleet outside. I hate it when he says that; I can never tell what it means. "I'll listen to it later," he concludes. He smiles at me when he turns back. "I wasn't expecting you to still be here," he says quietly, moving across the room towards me.

"I called Roly... told him I couldn't work," I say, looking up at Heero who is right in front of me, hovering. He holds out his hand and when I take it, he lifts me effortlessly to my feet.

He smiles again. "Does Chinese sound good for dinner?" he asks. I grin in reply.

In spite of having consumed more than half a box of Fruit Loops, I'm starving by the time the food finally arrives on our doorstep.

While Heero serves himself, I ponder how to phrase what I'm thinking. "Quatre said you were staying in Chicago for Christmas," I say eventually, trying to sound casual, as Heero passes me the Shantung Chicken.

"Hmmm?" he says, licking a trickle of sauce from his finger. "I have to work."

I vaguely register that he's talking but my mind is too busy replaying the image of Heero's tongue curving around his finger. I swallow heavily. "What?" I say belatedly, dragging myself back to the present.

Heero raises one eyebrow and then repeats himself. "I have to work." There is a minute of silence as my heart sinks. I look up when Heero clears his throat. "Actually that's a lie," he says sheepishly, a moment later. He hesitates and then, "I thought maybe we could spend it together… that is, unless you've made other plans."

My heart leaps again and it takes all my strength not to start grinning. Inside me, something that looks suspiciously like my Inner Child is jumping up and down with manic glee. Heero is still surveying me nervously, waiting for my answer.

"Well, I was planning to go to Aspen for the season…" I'm having difficultly keeping a straight face. "But I suppose I might be persuaded to stay," I finish hurriedly.

"Is that a yes?" he inquires, looking up from his fried rice, his face impassive.

"Can we get a Christmas tree?" I ask in response.

"That's a yes," he confirms on my behalf, allowing the relief to finally show on his face.

"Only if we can get a Christmas tree," I insist.

He smiles. "We can get a Christmas tree," he agrees, picking up his chopsticks. Catching my eye, we share a smile across the now empty take-out containers, one that lingers on each of our faces for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Christmas comes sooner than I am expecting. One minute I'm sitting in Heero's apartment, buzzing with excitement as I contemplate the approach of the big day, and the next I'm standing on the street in a puddle of melted sleet, struck dumb by the realisation that it's Christmas Eve and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. 

I mean, I've never had a proper Christmas, not even at the Orphanage where the only change was extra hours of mass and a hot lunch. Will it be like it is on TV? With carollers and singing and Christmas pudding and turkey and presents? What's that line in the Christmas song that always blares from every department store at this time of year?

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," I sing quietly to myself. A frazzled-looking woman, laden with bags and boxes, casts me a strange look as she passes and I keep the rest of the song to myself.

I try to imagine roasting chestnuts with Heero, only Heero doesn't have an open fire and I'm not entirely sure what chestnuts actually look like. The fantasy is somewhat ruined after that. I continue walking, wondering just when I managed to come up with this unrealistically fantastical Christmas dream and why I'm secretly hoping that Heero will be able to pull it off.

That seems rather unfair, doesn't it? Expecting Heero to create this magical Christmas fantasy for me when really, he doesn't exactly seem like the sleigh-bells-and-partridges-in-pear-trees type. But he did promise that we could get a Christmas tree… I can feel my spirits starting to lift already.

I haven't seen Heero in four days; not due to any strength and willpower on my part but because I've been working non-stop in the hopes that Roly will give me a day or two off. I didn't think it was very likely as Christmas can be quite a busy time for… well, people like me. I mean, all the guilt-ridden, closeted husbands forgo their visits in favour of spending the season with their wives and families, but then, just to balance it all out, all the lonely and depressed come out of hiding looking for company which certainly makes for a dismal but demanding way to spend Christmas night.

But you know, I suppose the good thing about working with Roly is that he doesn't actually care whether I work or not. All he's interested in is getting paid. Of course, that usually means that I have to work because if I don't then I have no money and Roly will find someone else who will work and can pay. But I think the pittance I have saved away will be enough to cover Roly's costs if he does decide that a couple of nights off are too much to ask for.

When I raised the idea of a holiday to Roly he didn't seem particularly impressed and actually, come to think of it, he didn't really give me an answer at all; he just grunted and then coughed and then hung up. But I know for a fact that both Smokey and Joe have Christmas Eve and Christmas Night off which is an encouraging thought. I think I'll take that grunt as a yes.

It's close to eight o'clock when I finally arrive at Heero's apartment building. Earl the doorman is not working tonight, replaced instead by a tall, thin man with pale eyes and adorned with a faded Santa hat.

I find myself missing Earl's crooked smile and rasping voice. It took him a while but he's finally stopped seeing me as something that should be left outside on the curb where it belongs. He doesn't care that I'm not on the list and I think he doesn't even see the clothes I wear anymore.

I feel slightly apprehensive facing this new figure who doesn't know me and isn't aware of the bizarre arrangement that I have with Heero. Even though I'm not wearing my usual street-walking clothes and don't have to go through the awkward first impression that eyeliner and fishnet stockings automatically bring, I still feel painfully underdressed in my torn, faded jeans and ripped jacket, as though this new doorman will instinctively know that I'm not classy enough to live in a joint like this.

"Earl on holiday?" I ask, trying to sound confident, as the door swings shut behind me.

The tall, thin man nods, surveying me with misty eyes. "Gone home for the holidays," he explains. "You a resident or a guest?" he asks, reaching for his list.

"Oh, um… resident," I say, and it's not quite a lie. "19-01. I… share with Heero Yuy, sort of." I can feel my face starting to heat up but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Yuy…" He pauses in thought, setting his list back down on the counter. "Oh yeah, Japanese bloke… messy hair, doesn't talk much." He looks up at me for confirmation.

"That's the one," I say, lamely.

He grins, pleased with himself. "I'm trying to remember all the residents," he says by way of explanation. "It's difficult, though. This is a big building. I reckon I'll just have learnt everyone's names when Earl gets back. Murphy's Law." He laughs and I nod, smiling, because it seems like the polite thing to do. He clears his throat and looks back to me. "And you are?"

"Duo. Duo Maxwell," I reply.

"Jacob," he responds, his eyes crinkling in a smile. "Nice to meet you." We shake hands briefly and then he steps back, fumbling for his chair and sitting heavily. I take this as my sign of dismissal and with a final smile I escape in the direction of the elevator.

Heero is waiting for me when I let myself into the flat. He is half sitting, half leaning on the back of the couch, his arms folded and his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He straightens up before I even have a chance to step over the threshold.

He pauses, running his eyes over me and I realise that he's probably never seen me dressed in clothes that aren't either my working clothes or his. A slightly bemused look crosses his face. "You look…" he begins.

"… like less of a whore?" I suggest, fiddling with the zipper of my jacket as I stare at my feet.

He ignores me. "Different," he concludes enigmatically, pulling on his coat. "Shall we?" he asks, nodding towards the door.

"Where are we going?" I ask, looking up at him.

He freezes, halfway through buttoning his coat. "You said you wanted a Christmas tree," he replies; there is a hint of uncertainty in his voice and those deep blue eyes bore into mine.

My lips quirk into a smile which quickly morphs into a grin. "I did, didn't I?" I say, stepping back into the corridor.

Heero doesn't answer but his fingers resume their work, sliding button into buttonhole. When he's done he glances up at me, a slight smile gracing his face. I beam back, feeling a child-like sense of anticipation and excitement that I don't think I've ever felt before. He laughs, stepping forwards through the door so that we're toe-to-toe; his breath is warm on my face. I resist the urge to jerk away, instead allowing myself to relish the closeness. He casts me a funny look and we both move away as one.

We walk down the corridor, side-by-side, the barest of gaps between us. With every second step, our arms brush against each other. I think we're both smiling.

Jacob waves to us as we emerge from the elevator and Heero hurries me across the lobby before he can draw us into conversation.

"He talks too much," Heero says once we're out on the street.

I laugh. "Just like you don't talk enough," I reply.

"Hn," is his only response, but the corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly.

Suddenly I feel a drop of wetness on my cheek. I look up to see the first flakes of snow starting to fall. A lump forms in my throat. I've never really liked snow; it always makes feel cold and miserable, wishing I had somewhere warm and cosy to be instead.

But tonight, it's magical. Tiny perfect icicles drift down on the wind, catching the light from the streetlamps, sparkling as they swirl around me.

"It's snowing," I say softly, catching Heero's arm.

"It's winter," he responds, practical as ever. I shake my head, not bothering to explain. Neither of us makes any move to separate and so we continue down the street, arm-in-arm.

Three blocks down in the car park of the supermarket, a harried-looking man is selling Christmas trees. He struggles to sell a tree to a mother whose daughter steadfastly refuses every size and shape of tree presented to her.

"No! It has to be perfect!" She pouts, stamping her little foot stubbornly.

By now even her mother is starting to look harassed and irritable. "Let's just get this one, sweetie," she implores. "It looks fine."

The little girl shakes her head, her blonde curls dancing. "No, no. It's wrong. I don't want that one!" She glowers at the tree.

The salesman sighs heavily. "I'll be with you folks in a minute," he calls and the mother casts us an apologetic look.

I smile back, feeling sorry for the poor woman. "Hey, Heero?" I ask suddenly.

He turns to me. "Hmmm?"

"What tree do you reckon we should get?" I ask.

He gives me a confused look. "It's just a tree. They're all the same," he responds.

"No, they're not. It has to be perfect." I raise my voice slightly. "We have to get that one; it's the _best_ one here," I say determinedly.

The little girl swings around to stare at me and then swivels on the spot to see where I'm pointing. "I want _that_ one, mummy!" she exclaims, running to the tree I'm indicating and happily smoothing a crooked branch.

The mother sags in relief and I wink at her. The little girl barks orders from the curb as she observes her mother and the salesman wrestle the tree into the back of their station wagon.

The salesman watches them drive away before turning back to where Heero and I are waiting. "Sorry about that, folks," he apologises. "Have you picked a tree?"

"We should get something small," Heero says beside me.

I nod distractedly, searching through the rows of neatly cut trees. At the end of the farthest row, a little tree has fallen sideways and is lying on the pavement looking distinctly dejected. I prop it up again and take a step back. It's only about a metre tall and is slightly lopsided. "This one," I say, smiling.

Heero nods. "We'll take that one," he says, handing the money over to the salesman who looks extremely relieved at the lack of fuss. He waves us goodbye cheerfully and then turns to a family who have just pulled into car park.

Heero tucks the tree under one arm and then holds the other arm out to me. I duck my head, blushing slightly, but take his arm anyway.

We're nearly home when a kid on a motorized scooter comes hurtling around the corner. Heero drops the tree and knocks me out of harm's way. I stumble backwards into an alley and land with a thump amongst a stack of empty rubbish bins. The boy on the scooter rams straight into Heero. They collide with a crunch, the force of the impact tumbling them over in a tangle of limbs.

The boy scrambles away as Heero rights himself, brushing the snow away, a fierce glare on his face. The boy withers visibly and mumbles an apology as he collects his fallen scooter and hurries away.

Heero is still glaring as he makes his way over to where I'm slumped in the snow. He lifts me effortlessly to my feet; I slide uneasily on the slippery ground and Heero steadies me, one arm tight around my waist.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'm fine. You?" Heero nods and slowly, cautiously, releases me from his grip. I consider stumbling for dramatic effect in the hopes that Heero will hold me again, but in the end I decided against such a pathetic act.

Heero steps away to collect our abandoned Christmas tree but just as I move to follow him, I'm distracted by a plaintive cry. I peer into the darkness of the alley, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.

I take a couple of steps forwards, wondering if the sound was just a figment of my imagination. I'm just about to turn away when I hear it again. I creep further into the darkness and drop to my hands and knees. Cowering behind a broken crate, I discover a tiny, slightly mangy-looking tabby cat. I reach out a hand slowly. He flinches at first, hissing at the intrusion, swiping at me with his tiny paw. Shrinking away from me, his entire skinny little body is shaking from head to paw. Tentatively, I extend one finger, brushing gently against the cat's cheek. Still shaking, he leans instinctively into my touch, ducking his head under my hand so that my palm slides down the length of his spine in one fluid stroke. I withdraw my hand and the cat looks up at me, half-confused, half-demanding. He totters forwards on unsteady legs, seeking my warmth. I stroke him again and he mews pitifully, looking up at me with big green, glassy eyes. He's so small and pathetic and alone; I am instantly drawn to him, overcome by the intense desire to cuddle him up to me and protect him from the world. I wonder vaguely if this is what Heero felt when we first met.

The cat butts his head against my knee and when I reach out my arms, he allows me to gather him up; he buries itself in my chest, tucking his nose into V made by my open zipper. Slowly the shivering ceases and the purring begins.

I sense rather than see Heero come up behind me. He peers over my shoulder and his breath is warm against my cheek. I turn my head slightly to look up at him; a peculiar look flitters momentarily across his face.

"Have you ever seen _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?" he asks, the question reverberating around the alley.

"No. Why?" I respond.

He shakes his head. "Never mind." He shuffles closer, his chest against my back, and snakes one arm down over my shoulder. His fingers brush gently against damp fur and a tiny head emerges, sniffing suspiciously at Heero's fingers before nudging them into a stroke. Behind me, I can feel Heero smile.

"Come on, the snow is getting heavier. We should get home before the three of us freeze to death," is all he says. He disappears back out onto the street where he heaves our neglected Christmas tree back under his arm.

I cuddle the cat against my chest, zipping my jacket up around it; the warm, solid weight is comforting. The cat pops his head up through my zipper and nudges my chin with his nose. Suddenly Hilde's words come back to me. "We're very lucky, you and I," I whisper to my furry cargo. He cocks his head to the right and stares up at me, blinking owlishly, before disappearing back into the folds of my jacket.

I hurry after Heero. He is halfway down the block, Christmas tree still tucked under one arm. I fall into step beside him and we walk a few steps in silence, just close enough for our free arms to be touching. A moment later, he takes my arm and I curl into him, letting my head fall down to his shoulder.

Jacob opens the door as we approach, surveying us curiously, his gaze lingering on our linked arms. He doesn't seem to know what to say so he doesn't say anything. We shake the snow out of our hair and it's melted by the time it hits the floor. A tiny head pops up from beneath my jacket, startling the elderly doorman. He steps back, perplexed, and his eyes follow us across the lobby until we disappear into the elevator.

Heero and I finally separate in the elevator, our limbs untwining, and it feels strange not having his warmth at my side.

In the apartment, Heero slips out of his shoes and leaves them neatly lined up by the door. He props the tree up against the fireplace and disappears. I extract myself and the cat from my jacket, leaving it hanging over the back of one of the dining room chairs. When Heero returns, he is carrying a towel and a bowl of milk. He sets them both on the coffee table and moves to turn up the heat. I fold myself up on the rug, cradling the cat in my lap. He leans into my touch as I gently rub him dry. Heero perches on the coffee table, watching me as I work. His knees are pressed up against my back and I lean back, allowing him to take my weight.

When I'm done, the cat's fur is sticking up on end and he looks rather bemused. His tail twitches of its own accord and he yowls plaintively. Heero sets the bowl down on the floor beside me and our guest seems to recover his wits, tottering away on wobbly legs and eagerly lapping at the milk.

I smile up at Heero, feeling a bubble of happiness well up inside me. He slides down off the table to sit beside me and we watch in silence as the cat devours every last drop of milk. When he's finished, he curls up beside me and starts to clean himself, tail twitching sleepily.

Heero and I turn our attention back to our newly acquired tree. In my mind, I have this dream as to how this is supposed to go. Heero smiles when I tell him, indulging my whim. Heero produces and assortment of decorations and I eagerly sort through them, lifting each one to the light and admiring it. Heero turns on the radio and the appropriate tunes of _Jingle Bell Rock_ fill the apartment, blending seamlessly with the cat's steady purring.

We dress the tree together, and Heero confesses that this is the first time he's done this too. It feels good to be sharing a first with him and neither of us is embarrassed when we discover that we are equally as inept at the whole decorating business. We spend a good half an hour untangling Christmas lights and by the time we've finally draped them around the tree, we're both laughing with relief.

I wrap the left over tinsel around Heero's neck. He regards it suspiciously, casting me a look that succinctly says, 'Do I have to?' He concedes when I nod and I'm secretly thrilled.

The cat wakes sleepily, stretching sinuously. "We should give him a name," I say as Heero hands me a box of shiny silver baubles.

"Like what?" Heero asks. A scrap of tinsel falls from his shoulder as he moves and the cat captures it between his paws delightedly.

I pause and for the life of me, I cannot think of a single name that seems to fit the tiny little creature that is currently lolling on its back playing with a wisp of red shiny tinsel.

I frown. "I dunno. Something appropriate…" I trail off and Heero laughs at me. "Oh, shut up… it'll come to me later," I say, full of confidence. The only response I get is Heero's continued laughter.

I stop still and stare at him. His hair is still damp from the snow and a train of red tinsel is wound around his neck, trailing over one shoulder and down his back. His face is uncharacteristically relaxed and unguarded and those deep blue eyes of his crinkle at the corners as he laughs. The lights from the Christmas tree dance across his face and he is illuminated from behind by the flickering red glow of the fake fire. It's an altogether beautiful sight and I want to tell him this but I can't seem to find the words.

He stops and meets my gaze and I realise that my mouth is incredibly dry. "Duo?" he asks. I jolt out of my daze, feeling my face flush. "Do you want to put the star on?"

Our fingers touch as he hands me the twinkling gold star. It's lighter than I'm expecting but the metal is cool against my skin. I set the star on the top of the tree and suddenly it doesn't matter that this tree is a little small or slightly bent, it looks perfect and I'm overwhelmed by something that I've never felt before, something that I don't even think I can describe. A smile of wonder and delight breaks across my face.

"Beautiful," Heero whispers and when I turn towards him, I realise he's looking at me instead of the tree.

Suddenly all the back ground noise and light fades away and it's just me and Heero, together. My throat is very dry and I wet my lips almost unconsciously. Heero is leaning closer, those deep blue eyes bright with an emotion that I can't quite pin-point. I find myself leaning up to meet him, even though my head is screaming at me to pull away. We are so close that I can feel his breath ghosting across my lips.

We are just about to touch when the cat mews loudly, breaking the magic and dragging me back to reality with a swift and painful bump. I jerk away, startling Heero who pulls away as though he has been stung. I swallow heavily, lifting my head to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry… I can't… we can't…" I mumble, unable to express what I really want to.

Heero is frozen for a moment before he speaks. "No, I'm sorry… I shouldn't have…" He breaks off and clears his throat awkwardly.

"It just wouldn't work," I try to explain, feeling helpless.

"Of course," Heero answers promptly. His face is blank again but his hands are curled into fists by his side.

For several agonising minutes we stand in silence, not looking at each other, cloaked in awkwardness.

Finally the cat mews again, breaking the horrible stalemate, demanding attention. He totters first over to me, winding around my legs, and then to Heero who bends down and scoops him up.

Heero strokes him gently, tugging at one ear, and I find myself smiling. "He's probably hungry again," Heero says softly. I nod even though he's not looking in my direction. He steps up to me and delivers the wriggling bundle of fur into my waiting arms. His hands brush against my mine and I look up to meet his gaze. In spite of all the awkwardness and tension that was left in the wake of the failed kiss, Heero smiles at me. He squeezes my hand to let me know that everything is OK between us and I struggle to stop myself from falling into his arms.

We try to continue as though that little moment never happened but things are slightly strained between us. Heero orders pizza and when it arrives we curl up on the couch, eating straight from the box, the cat perched between us, watching every bite. He licks my fingers clean and I find myself giggling as the rough tongue grazes across my skin. Heero laughs as well and then suddenly stops.

"I'm glad you're here," he says abruptly in a moment of tenderness that is quickly replaced by his usual efficiency. He flushes as he waits for my response.

I wipe my hands on my jeans. "Me too," I whisper, feeling that those words don't do justice to the relief and gratitude I feel.

Heero breathes deeply, closing his eyes, a tiny smile on his face. When he opens them again he looks straight at me; the deep blue is strangely unnerving and it feels like Heero is looking right into me. "I have something for you," he says softly.

I swallow awkwardly. "You didn't have to do that," I start.

"I wanted to," he interrupts firmly.

He disappears for a moment and when he returns he hands me a small package wrapped neatly in brown paper. He seats himself beside me and waits, absent-mindedly petting the cat. I can sense his slightly nervous anticipation.

I gently unfurl the paper; it rustles loudly and the cat moves away from Heero, peering at my present with interest. His tail twitches and he sniffs at the air. I take a deep breath and open the paper. A flash of gold winks up at me from between the folds and my heart skips a beat.

I freeze, suddenly overwhelmed. Eventually I extract the familiar watch; I would recognise it anyway. For years, it was my constant companion. Its weight is comforting in my hand and it feels like it's exactly where it's meant to be.

I am uncharacteristically lost for words but in the corners of my eyes I can feel the prickle of impending tears. A moment later, a stream of inane babble threatens to escape and I bite back the words, not wanting to ruin the moment with senseless chatter.

Instead I curl my fingers around my precious gift and shuffle closer to Heero. Before I know what I'm doing, my arms are locking comfortably around his neck in a fierce embrace. He tenses momentarily and then his arms wrap around me, pulling me close, holding me tighter than I've ever been held before.

The tears don't fall and my mumbled, "Thank you" is lost in the warmth of Heero's shoulder. We stay like that for countless minutes, neither willing to be the first the break away.

When we finally separate, Heero has a vaguely dreamy smile on his face and I realise that sitting here on the couch with possibly the only person I care about in this entire world, bathed in the light from the fireplace and the Christmas tree while the snow falls down outside, every dream I've ever had about the perfect Christmas is wiped away, replaced forever by the memory of this one evening.

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**Author's Notes: Well, that's it. It's longer than usual and so I'm hoping that will make up for its tardiness and will prompt you to review and make me ecstatically happy. I probably won't be able to update again for a little while as I am off on holiday (Yay! The south coast of Australia really is the most beautiful place in the world and no, I'm not biased) and then I've promised to dedicate some time to updating my Harry Potter fic – yes, I have bitten off more than I can chew and am realising that I can't do two things at once… Waaaaa! **

**But never mind. I'll be back with Heero and Duo and you lot as soon as I can. In the mean time, why don't you review and give me some inspiration? (I will beg again if need be)**


	10. Part Two: Chapter Seven

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: Yikes! I know it's been an age, but seriously I have been ridiculously busy. Uni has started up again with a vengeance, dumping an appropriately heavy load of work on me - I swear if I ever see a Latin verb conjugation, or an essay question on the causes of WW1, gender representations in film, or Dante's frigging, bloody Inferno, I will scream… _Celamus_… Gahhhhh! I give up!  
****But this chapter is longest so far – partly out of a desire to make up for being so late, and partly because the words just kept on coming. So hopefully, that'll keep you satisfied while I'm busy drowning in essays and model verbs.  
****Oh, and does anyone know of a good way of deterring Plot Bunnies? They just won't leave me alone. Hardly a day goes past when some new fic idea doesn't pop into my head. I have enough on my plate already with the two fics I got, stop harassing me, you demon bunnies, you!  
****And speaking, of bunnies… Have a great Easter. Don't eat too much chocolate… oh, stuff that! Eat as much as you want – you only live once.**

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Part Two – Chapter Seven:

Heero

I've never really thought much of Christmas… I guess I never really understood it before. Raised in a fairly traditional Japanese family, the notion of a holiday that is half religious and half commercial, that manages to combine the birth of Jesus and a reindeer with a red nose, was completely foreign to me.

When I was in high school I always dreaded this time of year… the shiny plastic nativity scene that sat in the front office, Mary and Joseph and a collection of shepherds greeting visitors with their wooden smiles; the gauzy fake holly branches that festooned the hallways; the cheerfully corny jingles that played endlessly over the loud speakers during break, crooning about bob tails, bright spirits and one horse open sleighs; and everywhere, the excited voices that asked that most vital of vital questions: what are you getting for Christmas?

No one ever asked me; it was common knowledge that my family didn't hang silly, twinkly lights on our roof, that we didn't attend the midnight mass on Christmas Eve; that we simply didn't celebrate the season like everyone else did.

I wasn't the only one from a non-Christian background, Quatre being the most obvious example. But even though his family didn't celebrate Christmas, he still seemed to understand what it was all about; he could still engage in the childish thrill the other students felt. Besides, he was popular and that made all the difference; he was unusual but accepted, whereas I was just a pariah.

My little brother felt it more keenly than I did. He was always devastated by my father's hard 'we-don't-celebrate-Christmas' line. Every year, he would plead and beg for hours, his tiny childish voice asking over and over again why we couldn't be normal like everyone else. I can't even remember my father's answer now, just that plaintive little voice.

My mother never stepped in on his behalf, though I often thought she wanted to; she had learned early on in her marriage that what my father said went, without question, and that keeping her head down was the best course of action.

However, one year my father was away for Christmas, in Tokyo on Business. In his absence, my mother relented to Shinji's pleas and bought a tiny plastic Christmas tree, pre-decorated with tiny glassy red and gold balls. It sat on our mantle piece for a week looking ridiculous and then it mysteriously disappeared.

My mother didn't try again after that and the following year, Shinji's entreaties were curiously absent; from then on, he escaped to any number of friends' houses where they celebrated Christmas properly, complete with lights and home-decorated Trees and Christmas pudding.

No, Christmas never really meant anything to me. Even the years I've spent with Quatre and Wufei, and later Sally and Trowa as well, were little more to me that a nice dinner with good company and the odd simple gift. Trowa has called me a Scrooge on more than one occasion and I always replied with a "Bah humbug!"

But now, all that has changed, just as like everything else in my life that has come into contact with Duo. Now when I think of Christmas, I remember a wonky-looking tree, unevenly decorated with silver baubles and red tinsel and I feel a sense of pride because uneven or not, it still looks ten times better than the pitiful plastic version that my mother bought; I remember the glow of the fire warming the room while the snow fell outside; I remember a tiny, bundle of fur devouring a bowl of milk, curling around my legs, purring in my ear; and most of all, I remember Duo… cheeks flushed from the cold, slipping his arm through mine… lit up by the Christmas tree lights, laughing and draping tinsel around my neck… so close that I could almost feel his lips against mine… his arms wrapped around me, his voice's soft and choked, whispering "Thank you" in my ear.

That's what I'll always remember and you know, I think I'm beginning to re-evaluate my anti-Christmas policy.

I've brought the wisp of tinsel that Duo hung around my neck to work with me; it's stuck to the edge of my computer, a red border around a black and white screen. Actually, it is the only splash of colour in this dull off-white room. Everyone else's offices are decorated with plants and photos and strange, messy pictures their children have drawn. But mine has always been completely blank… until now.

And every time I look up and see that flash of red, I stop and smile. In fact, that's what I'm doing right now. It's little wonder that I've managed to review barely half a report this morning. But it's Friday and I tell myself I'll work late to make up for it.

My fingers tap away at the keyboard half-heartedly. I stop when I realize that Duo's name is dotted at regular intervals throughout my document. I've always prided myself on being completely dedicated to my work, on my ability to tune everything else out. It's a little unsettling to realize that Duo has managed to invade every single crevice of my mind.

I set about removing all the added 'Duo's from my word document; there are more than I thought there were. For every time I've thought about him this morning, his name is recorded there in front of me in black and white. Within minutes, my mind has wandered again.

Relena catches me daydreaming. She doesn't knock on my door any more; she just walks straight in as though that's her right. I scramble hurriedly to look like I'm working. Leaning in the doorway, she raises one eyebrow, unconvinced. I refuse to blush and my hands find the keyboard again, resuming their typing.

She eyes the tinsel curiously. "Did you have a nice Christmas?" she purrs, sashaying across the room to stand beside me. I nod perfunctorily as she peers over my shoulder at the computer screen; I'm relived that my work is no longer peppered with Duo's name.

She straightens up, momentarily satisfied. "Good, I'm glad. So did I. My father bought me the new Mercedes-Benz model sports car. It's divine!" She twitters for several minutes longer, but I confess I'm not listening. I have little interest in flashy sports cars, especially pink ones with personalized 'Relena' license plates.

"I'll have to take you for a drive some time," she concludes, moving back around my desk to seat herself in front of me. "Are you doing anything over New Years?" she inquires.

"I have friends flying in from New York," I reply, not looking up from the computer.

"Oh, really?" She seems a little surprised, whether it's because I have plans or because I have friends, I don't know. Surprise gives way to displeasure and she settles back into the chair looking a little put-out. "Well, maybe some other time…"

"Is there something you wanted, Relena?" I interrupt before she can make herself comfortable.

"There's no need to be snappy, Heero," she chides, crossing her legs demurely and folding her hands in her lap. I must look particularly unimpressed because she hurriedly continues. "As you no doubt know, I've been horrendously busy lately; however I did manage to find the time to look up your file…" She pauses for effect and my head snaps up and suddenly her presence is a little more welcome.

"And?" I ask impatiently.

She casts me a warning look but carries on. "Well, your current contract with Tanaki Industries will take you through to until the end of next year at which point you will probably be promoted and your contract renewed." Relena's voice is strong and business-like. I rarely get to see her in work-mode and it's quite refreshing; she probably makes a very formidable lawyer.

"Yes, I already know that. What about my time in Chicago?" I press.

"Ah, well that's where things get a little more complicated." She shifts gracefully in her chair, sweeping a long strand of blonde hair off her face. "Your time at this office is scheduled to finish on the 6th of March when the current project ends. After that you'll either return to New York or be offered an assignment at another office."

"But I can't stay in Chicago?" I clarify. My hands have left the keyboard and I'm vaguely aware that they are tightening into angry fists.

"No, not unless there is a project here that requires your level of expertise, and as far as I know, there won't be. I'm sorry, Heero," she concludes, actually sounding sincere.

I pause and think for a moment. "Is there any way I can break my contract?"

She looks surprised but covers it well. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone doing that. I suppose it's possible, but I have to warn you, the contracts here are very tight; I write them myself, after all."

"So there's nothing I can do?" Now I am angry; I can feel my heart rate starting to rise and my fist bangs down on the desk with a loud, heavy thud of frustration.

Relena shrinks back in her chair, slightly alarmed. "Calm down, Heero," she warns. "I never said 'nothing'. Look, your best bet is to talk to Dorothy. If you can't suspend the contract perhaps you might be able to get yourself demoted to a position that they do have available here…. _perhaps_," she stresses. "It's a long shot, but you're obviously very worked up about this, so it's worth a try."

I nod, taking a deep breath. My hands slowly unclench as I try to sooth my temper. I am just wondering how I'm going to be able to persuade or threaten Dorothy into letting me stay when Relena speaks again. "Why are you so desperate to stay in Chicago anyway? New York is vastly superior city."

The question catches me by surprise and I almost answer, just managing to stop myself in time. But Relena manages to catch my initial reaction and her eyes glint dangerously.

"What's her name?" Relena asks, sensing my moment of weakness and diving after it.

"What?" I respond, my head jerking up to stare at her.

"It has to be a girl. Why else would you want to stay here? So, who is it?" She looks smug, so certain that she's right… I almost want to tell her about Duo, just to prove her wrong.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I state blankly, moving my hands back to the keyboard. My fingers start tapping of their own accord. "There is no girl," I say truthfully. My sincerity floors her momentarily; her smile falters and her shoulders sag, perplexed and a little annoyed.

"Oh fine, don't tell me," she says eventually, crossing her arms huffily. She watches me intently for several minutes while I type away, trying to ignore her. She has just opened her mouth to ask me something when a loud beeping noise fills the room.

Relena clicks her tongue irritably, glancing down at the pager fixed to her belt. "I have to go. I have a phone conference with our Seattle offices," she says, halfway to the door. She turns back as she crosses the threshold. "I'll talk to you later," she promises. She clatters away down the corridor and I resolve to leave early.

The door bangs shut behind her and my fingers slide from the keyboard. My gaze finds the tinsel again and I smile quietly to myself.

I don't end up leaving early; I work late into the night but thankfully Relena's call from Seattle keeps her busy enough that she forgets about me.

The cleaners are just finishing up by the time I leave and we take the elevator down together in a jumble of vacuum cleaners and mops. They congregate in the lobby, chattering away in Spanish, nodding to me as I skirt around them on my way to the door.

The night is cool and crisp. The snow has taken a brief hiatus, leaving behind a glittering icy city. I decide to walk home, and although it takes me a good hour and I'm significantly frozen by the time I arrive at my apartment, I don't regret the decision.

I stumble into the flat, still shivering. The heat is on and it washes over me, instantly seeping into my bones, driving away the chill. I clatter around in the darkness, kicking off my shoes, settling my briefcase down and removing layers of slightly soggy clothing.

It's only when I reach for the lamp and light floods the room that I see Duo. He is curled up on the far couch, watching me. A tiny clump of tabby fur is just visible in his lap. He shies away from the light, blinking at the brightness.

Our eyes lock and for several moments I can't move. I haven't seen him for several days and I am instantly taken back to Christmas Eve. Eventually I clear my throat. "I wasn't expecting you until later," I manage to croak, even though I wasn't really expecting him at all.

He shrugs and breaks eye contract. Leaving my discarded jumper over the back of a chair, I cross the room to where he is huddled, crouching down in front of him.

He looks slightly shaken and there is a small cut above his left eyebrow. My hand reaches up instinctively to cup his face and he leans into my touch.

"What happened?" I ask quietly.

"I walked into a door," he lies, chewing his lip morosely.

"Why would someone walk into a door?" I reply, stroking his cheek gently with the pad of my thumb.

"Because they want to? Because they can?" he mumbles.

"That doesn't make it right." My voice is barely louder than a whisper. Duo smiles faintly, closing his eyes and nuzzling my hand slightly. It takes all my strength not to gather him into my arms. My breath catches and I think he notices because he pulls away reluctantly.

"You go and have a shower and then I'll fix that cut," I tell him, clearing my throat in an attempt to stay the butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach.

He nods sleepily and hands me a bundle of fur. The kitten mews noisily as Duo retreats to the bathroom. I look down into those deep green eyes, knowing exactly how he feels.

After a moment, the sound of steadily drumming water can be heard. I set the cat down and he follows me into the kitchen. Winding around my legs, he begs for his dinner. I lift him up to the bench and he greedily consumes the food I put before him.

I notice, with some satisfaction, that he has grown slightly in the few days since Christmas Eve. He is still tiny and thin, but he has filled out a little. His fur is glossier and he has lost that painfully scrawny look.

I took him to the vet yesterday and was told that he was suffering from malnutrition but was otherwise fine and that I should feed him well and keep him warm and he'd be right as rain. And so far it's working, but I probably could have worked that out without paying 100.

It's strange how quickly I've adapted to becoming a pet owner. Christmas Day and Boxing Day, the first days without Duo, were a little rough; scratches appeared on most of my wooden furniture, black clothes laid out on my bed to be worn were covered in white and grey hairs within minutes, persistent purring kept me awake at night, and everywhere, _everywhere_, I walked there was a lithe little body waiting to get under my feet.

But even as little as a day later and I think I've adapted to his presence; we've settled into some kind of rhythm and, to tell the truth, I think I'd probably miss him if he suddenly left; like Duo, he has found a place in my heart, in my life.

He has a name now. Well, something that passes for a name anyway. Duo was supposed to take charge of that; I have no difficulty with the feeding and petting and taking to the vet aspects of the pet-owner deal, but something as creative as naming shouldn't be left to me. Duo had said he'd think of something later… but it never really happened. A few names were bandied around but Duo could never settle on exactly the right one.

In his absence, I had to call the cat something and unfortunately, that was really all I could think of… 'Cat'. Sadly, Cat didn't seem to understand the temporary nature of that title and now he won't answer to anything else. He doesn't seem to mind and I certainly don't care, but I'm slightly nervous about telling Duo… although, he did say "something appropriate."

Leaning against the kitchen bench, I stroke Cat absent-mindedly while I wait for Duo to finish; he purrs contentedly, completely oblivious to any consternation his name might be causing. The green lights of the microwave clock flash 12:06am and I'm surprised by how late it has suddenly gotten.

Eventually the shower stops running and I scoop my new flat mate up and we return to the living room. Duo emerges several moments later, dressed in my clothes and trailing a waft of steam.

He seats himself comfortably and I deposit Cat back into his lap. Duo tickles him under the chin, cooing. He circles Duo's lap twice, sits down, reconsiders, circles again and then seats himself in exactly the same place. Duo watches in amusement but I've long since grown tired of that once endearing restlessness. I think Cat has picked up on that; whenever he moves to sit of my lap, he seats himself quickly and efficiently before I have a chance to get irritated and turf him off.

I seat myself on the coffee table facing them and tentatively inspect Duo's wound. It's not very deep, I conclude, relieved.

Since Duo came back into my life, there have been very few occasions where he's needed patching up; he's very competent at looking after himself and I desperately try not think what things might be like if he weren't.

But as I reach for the first-aid kit, I am instantly reminded of the last time I was in this position. The hotel room seems to materialise around me and the Duo before me is five years younger, less jaded and still retaining some aspect of hope. I tended his wounds nervously that night; I could barely keep my hands from shaking. I can't even remember why I was nervous… maybe it was because I didn't really know what I was doing, or maybe it was just the mere proximity of that exotic, waif-like creature.

I'm more confident this time but when my fingers brush against his cheek I am still overcome by that familiar fluttering in my stomach. How is it that so much and so little change can have changed during those five years?

"This is just like that first night," he says out of the blue. His blue-violet eyes bore into me and I can almost feel him reading my mind. "I like it…" He trails off but his gaze remains locked with mine. He swallows heavily and a brief flicker of realisation sweeps across his face and then is gone. He looks away and then speaks again. "I like it when you take care of me." It sounds more like he's admitting to himself than to me.

I want to tell him that I'll always take care of him, but I can't; Relena's words are still fresh in my mind and it's tearing me up inside.

I return the first-aid kit to kitchen and the padding of tiny paws on lino indicates that I've been followed. Seconds later, a meow is heard and I look down at a little face that looks rather interested in some more food.

"I've already fed you!" I tell him sternly. He cries pitifully and I almost relent. I force myself to look away; last night I fed him a total of three times because he kept turning on those pleading eyes. How is it that I can have so much control and yet lose myself in an instant in those eyes?

I stride back into the living room. "Don't even think about it, Cat!" I warn as he surveys me from the doorway. He follows a moment later and when I seat myself on the sofa, he joins me, perching on my knee looking regal.

"Cat?" Duo asks and I find myself flushing. "You named the cat, Cat?"

"Well… you said it should be something appropriate and… I was expecting you to give him a name but you didn't and I had to call him something in the mean time…"

"But Cat?" Duo laughs, leaning across the space between us to stroke the creature in question.

"It was supposed to be temporary," I say defensively.

Duo laughs again and lifts said Cat up to stare into his wide shining eyes. Duo cocks his head to the right and then cuddles him to his chest. Cat struggles briefly and then accepts his embrace with resignation.

"I think I like it," Duo concludes, looking up at me. "Appropriate."

We share a smile; one of those smiles that seems to say far more than words ever could.

My stomach chooses that exact inappropriate moment to rumble loudly, breaking whatever mood was developing. Cat pricks up his ears at the sound and Duo laughs. I glare at them both, pulling myself to my feet again. "Have you eaten?" I call to Duo over my shoulder as turn back into the kitchen.

"Not really," Duo replies.

He speaks again but his words are lost as I rustle around in the fridge. "What?" I murmur, straightening up again and closing the fridge.

"Didn't really feel like it," Duo repeats from the doorway.

I hold up the container in my hands. "Would you like some?"

Cat leans forwards in Duo's arms, indicating that he would rather like some. "What is it?" Duo asks suspiciously as I deposit the Tupperware in the microwave.

"Miso soup." Duo still looks unconvinced. "It's Japanese," I elaborate.

Duo pauses to think, and then, "Yeah, alright. I'll give it a go."

I smile. "You'll like it," I tell him. "And none for you," I add, giving Cat a fierce look. Evidently, the patented Heero Death Glare doesn't work on animals; Cat merely bats one eye sleepily and twitches his nose. Duo laughs at me; if it were anyone else I'd probably be tempted to hit them, but when Duo laughs, even at my expense… it's like everything stands still and all thoughts of anger simply evaporate.

We sit at the dining room table to eat, something we rarely do. It feels strangely formal and our conversation is stilted, until Cat leaps up onto the table and seats himself at the far end, watching us imperiously. Duo and I both laugh and this breaks the awkwardness.

"I like it," Duo says, lifting the bowl to his lips and draining the last drops. "It's weird at first, but it kinda grows on you."

"Next time, I'll try you out on something a little more adventurous," I suggest.

Duo raises one eyebrow. "I ain't eating no raw fish," he tells me in no uncertain terms.

I laugh. "You make it sounds like they just haul it out of the ocean and slap it down on your plate, still wriggling."

Duo wrinkles his nose up. "It's still raw," he says stubbornly.

"Whatever you say," I say loftily. Duo looks distinctly like he wants to stick his tongue out at me. He catches himself just in time, casting me a look that says, 'piss off' instead.

We do the washing up together and as we fall into a comfortable rhythm, I broach a subject that I've been meaning to for a while. "Quatre and Wufei are flying in from New York on Sunday. Trowa and Sally are coming as well."

Duo freezes, halfway through accepting a soapy plate from me. His fingers slip and the plate drops back into the sink with a clatter and a splash. Duo's hand is still frozen in mid-air and he swallows heavily. "Oh… right," is all he says.

There is a long awkward pause where neither of us really knows how to continue. Finally, it is Duo who breaks the silence. "S'pose you don't want me hanging around anymore, hey?" He sounds likes he's trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice wavers slightly at the end, betraying an emotion that goes straight to my heart.

"No, no… that's not what I meant," I say hastily, turning to face him. He refuses to meet my gaze. I tuck my fingers under his chin, guiding his eyes up to meet mine. Soap suds trickle down his neck from my soapy fingers. I let my hand drop back to the water but Duo's gaze remains locked with mine. "You're always welcome here…" I tell him, searching the depths of those haunting eyes, willing him to believe me. A very faint, almost imperceptible blush blossoms on Duo's cheekbones but still he doesn't look away.

I take a deep breath. "And I want them to meet you," I tell him truthfully, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance that I possess into those words. There is more to that sentence, really. Something about wanting my best friends to know the man that I… but I don't go there. I'm not ready for that yet.

Duo smiles hesitantly and breaks his gaze away from mine for the first time in several long minutes. "Are they… um… gonna stay here?" he asks me, a moment later, reaching for the elusive plate again, wrapping his tea towel firmly around it.

We fall back into our previous rhythm as I answer. "No, they're staying at a hotel. There's just not enough room here."

"And how long are they… y'know… staying?" Duo's fingers slide across mine as I hand him another plate.

"Just four nights. They leave on Thursday… the 4th." Duo nods in silence and I'm afraid that this means I won't see him for the next week; that he'll simply disappear out of my life until it's just the two of us again. The sink gurgles as I drain the water. Duo moves away, back to the living room but I catch his arm. "You're always welcome here," I repeat. His skin is warm beneath my fingers.

"I know, Heero," he says quietly.

We don't discuss it anymore, instead I move through my nightly routine, locking the door and turning off the lights and then, in silence, we retire to bed… it's so domestic, so comfortable that I can almost pretend that this is our normal life together, just like I've always imagined Quatre and Trowa are together. I try not think what I'll do if I have to leave Chicago and I never get to experience this again.

I drag the covers wearily over my tired body, my arm extending to the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I feel the bed dip as Duo slides in beside me. Usually Duo stays resolutely on his side of the bed, and even when he unconsciously moves closer to me during the night, there is still at least an inch gap between us, an invisible barrier.

But tonight, he hovers on his side for several moments and then shuffles closer, resting his cheek against my bare shoulder. It's almost more than I can bear and I will my body to behave as I gently fold my arm around him, pulling him against my side. "Thanks." I almost miss his whisper in the darkness. I don't know what the thanks are for and he falls asleep before I have a chance to ask.

I find myself unable to sleep and so I lie wide awake in the darkness, relishing the feel of Duo's body against mine, his breath skimming across my skin. It's 4am by the time oblivion finally claims me.

Duo is gone when I wake up in the morning and it's only then that I start to feel slightly nervous. I know I want Duo to meet the others, it seems only right that the most important people in my life should all know each other, but some tiny part of me is still hesitant and, frustratingly, I cannot seem to work out why.

It's only after my first cup of coffee, taken out on the balcony in the freezing morning air, overlooking the sleepy city, that I understand my uncertainty. It's not that I'm ashamed of Duo; I could never be ashamed of Duo or of the way he has become such a central point in my life… but I don't how the others will react and I find that unsettling. Their reactions are something I have no control over, it's out of my hands… I'm afraid that Wufei will be overly negative while Quatre will be overly understanding, but more than anything I'm just afraid that Duo will get hurt. And I'm not sure I could bear that.

The possible ways that meeting could go plague my thoughts for the rest of the weekend. It's almost a relief when Sunday afternoon arrives and it's too late to change anything.

Standing in the bustling airport, relief is the first thing I feel when I see those four familiar faces emerging through the Arrivals Gate, closely followed a swell of contentment in my chest. And I suddenly realise just how much I've missed all of them.

Quatre catches me in a fierce embrace. He has always been a very tactile person, Quatre. When we first became friends, it unnerved me; I wasn't used to being touched, to the friendly gestures that I now take for granted… a comforting hand on my shoulder, a playful nudge of my elbow, an unexpected hug of delight. I bend instinctively and my arms automatically fold around him, returning the embrace that I once had so much difficult with.

"It's so good to see you again, Heero. I've missed you dreadfully," Quatre informs me and I feel a warm glow in the pit of my stomach at his words and sincerity. Quatre has this unique ability to make you feel needed and loved, and perhaps more importantly, worthy of that love. I've missed that.

He pulls back slightly, inspecting me, his arms still around my neck. Once satisfied that I have managed to take care of myself in his absence, he pulls away completely and allows me to greet the others.

Wufei and I grasp hands and pull into a fierce one-armed embrace; Wufei isn't the type to do the full bear-hug thing but our brief, manly gesture is tinged with affection. "You look good, Yuy!" he exclaims, clapping me on the shoulder and squeezing ever so slightly.

"You needn't sound so surprised," I retort. "I am capable of living without you." Wufei's face contorts in mock outrage and then he laughs.

Sally looks up at me, eyes slightly narrowed. "You look different, Heero," she whispers to me as she leans up kiss me. "More open somehow." Her lips graze across my cheek and she squeezes my hand.

"Enough of that, woman!" Wufei blusters from the side, partly in jest and partly serious.

"Oh, don't you 'woman' me," Sally responds sharply, casting him a warning glance. Wufei has the decency to look abashed and then, laughing at himself and at her, he plants an apology kiss on her temple. She melts into his embrace but gives him a swift elbow in the stomach to prove her point.

I can't help but smile. I squeeze Sally's hand in return and nudge Wufei companionably with my shoulder. I missed this… the rapport between the two of them, and between the three of us as we tried to share that tiny flat in Manhattan. I wish I could find the words to tell them this.

They move away to claim their luggage and I find myself face to face with Trowa, strong, serene, silent Trowa, a kindred spirit in many ways. We hug warmly and his green eyes twinkle in the airport lights.

"I'm glad to see you're well. That will save me from having to convince Quatre not to move to Chicago to look after you," is all he says, in that familiar, calm, steady voice. Beside him, Quatre blushes but Trowa and I share a meaningful smile.

We go straight to the hotel to drop of the luggage; we have to take two taxis and there is much debate at the rank over who should ride with who. The cab drivers watch us grumpily, shivering as they load the bags into the trunks; I don't feel guilty… it's their job and besides, I know Quatre will tip them more than enough to make our hassle worthwhile. In the end, Sally and Wufei take one cab and Quatre and Trowa and I ride together in the second.

I feel a nasty jolt of recognition as the cab pulls up to the hotel; it's the same place the three of us stayed five years ago… the place where Duo and I first spent the night together. I freeze on the pavement, staring up at the building; it is just as I remembered it. When I finally move to enter, I find Quatre standing just inside the door watching me thoughtfully. I'm grateful when he doesn't say anything.

"Heero and Wufei and I stayed here five years ago," Quatre tells Trowa conversationally. "We had only just come back when I met you," he continues.

Trowa steps up behind him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. "And I for one am very glad you did come back, little one," Trowa murmurs, dropping a kiss on the top of Quatre's head. Quatre swivels in his arms and they share a brief tender moment, completely unaware of anything but each other. I've always envied how secure they are in their relationship that they can do that. I'd like that one day… with, well, anyone but I think we all know who in particular.

The clerk at the front desk casts the oblivious Trowa and Quatre a dirty look, full of ill-disguised revulsion. I am jolted out of my dreams by the grumble of disgust that gurgles in his throat and I'm just about to lean across the desk to hit him when I feel Sally's hand on my arm. On her other side, Wufei's face is as thunderous as mine and he too is being held back solely by Sally's influence.

The three of us settle for casting fierce glares across the desk, piercing those hate-filled dull brown eyes. The clerk shrinks back, all too aware of his precarious position. He wisely refrains from comment, sliding the keys across the desk to Wufei and then hurrying away to serve someone else.

Quatre and Trowa break away from each other's gaze in time to catch our derisive glares and the clerk's subsequent retreat. They don't comment but I can see a twinge of pain mixed with gratitude in Quatre's round aqua eyes.

Homophobia is not something I've ever encountered personally but I'm no stranger to discrimination; I remember well the racist whispers that often drifted down the corridor of my prestigious high school when I passed.

I'm not sure how my thoughts managed to drift from racial intolerance to Duo, but they do. That's just the way it is with me. One moment I have one thought in my head and then suddenly all I can think about is Duo.

These moments are becoming more and more frequent in my life and if I wasn't busy contemplating Duo's smile, his voice, I'm sure I'd be worried… even I, emotionally retarded as I am, can see where this single-mindedness is heading. I'm in deeper than I thought was possible. God knows what I'll do when March 6th rolls around…

I vaguely register moving across the lobby to the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, but that moment the other night, Duo's cheek against my bare shoulder, his breath ghosting across my chest… suddenly it's all I can think about.

I don't even remember making the decision but suddenly I'm walking, moving away to start up the stairs. I can feel the others staring after me but it just feels like something I have to do. Wufei instructs the bellboy up to their rooms and they all huff up the stairs after me.

My hand glides up the smooth mahogany banister as I ascend. Beneath my feet, the carpet is the same it was five years ago; plush, red, velveteen curling upwards like a giant scarlet snake. I don't need to bend down to remember the feel of it.

Behind me I hear Sally ask something; her breath is uneven as she struggles to maintain the pace I've set. I think it's Quatre who answers her but I don't catch his words either.

I stop abruptly as I emerge onto the fourth floor landing and Wufei almost collides with me. He mutters something under his breath as he clutches the banister to steady himself. I ignore him, staring down the long stretch of corridor before me.

Suddenly I'm transported back five years and I can almost see Duo emerging from that room, halfway down… I can almost see that familiar face looking up, those eyes locking with mine…

In one swift moment, all breath leaves my lungs and it's like I'm seeing him for the first time again.

Those eyes that I see on a regular basis… I think I'd forgotten just how incredible they are. That mesmerizing colour draws you in, hypnotizing you completely and utterly; one minute they are completely blank, like shutters blocking a whir of mysterious activity, but the next moment they are so expressive that you feel like you're drowning in blue-violet emotion; and that sparkle… I thought it had been lost, but it still twinkles at odd moments and still causes my pulse to race.

But slowly the mirage is fading… a persistent voice invades my thoughts, pressing, dragging me back to reality. "Heero? _Heero!_"

In the end it's Quatre's sharp shake that snaps me out of my daze. His gaze follows mine down the corridor and when I turn to study him, I can see a faint tinge of recognition, of remembrance, shimmering behind his eyes. But he doesn't remember, not quite yet. And neither does Wufei. They just stare at me, confused, questioning.

"Are you alright, Heero?" Quatre asks after a minute, his hand still resting on my arm.

And that's when I realize that this is it… this is the right moment, the appropriate moment, to tell them all about Duo, about everything that happen that night, that has continued since I came back to Chicago.

I open my mouth and I can feel the words lingering on my tongue, waiting to spill forth… but they don't, and I find myself standing gormlessly on the stairs with my mouth hanging open.

"I'm fine," is all I manage to croak, wincing internally as I do so. I don't know why I can't tell them. I want to, I really do, and for the life of me I can't work out what is preventing me. I feel suddenly guilty and ashamed, as though my inability to talk is somehow a betrayal.

"Are you sure, Heero?" This time it's Sally who asks. "You look like a stunned mullet." Her tone is half amused, half worried. A stunned mullet… I've heard that phrase before; Sally uses it to describe Wufei whenever Quatre embarrasses him into silence.

"Hai, fine," I repeat, nodding my head for added emphasis. And then I turn away and continue on up the stairs. I don't need to look back to know that the others are sharing a look at my expense.

The bellboy is waiting in the corridor when we finally arrive on the seventh floor. He is young, probably all of seventeen, and wearing a bored look. He straightens up automatically as we approach, smoothing his mauve and gold jacket with the air of one who has been told off many times by his boss.

Wufei and Sally disappear into the first room, followed by Quatre. From the corridor, I can hear them commenting on the furnishing. Quatre's gentle laugh drifts out through the door and beside me, I just know Trowa is smiling. He gazes evenly at me when I turn to him and then pushes past me to let himself into the room next door.

I am just about to follow when Quatre re-emerges, closing the door gently behind him. He slides his arm through mine and I'm instantly reminded of the sensation of walking like this with Duo.

Quatre looks up at me, one delicate blonde eyebrow raised. He doesn't need to ask the question he's thinking. "Really, I'm fine," I tell him, honestly. He smiles that brilliant, toothy smile I remember so well and I allow him to guide me into the second room.

Trowa is stretched out across the double bed, one arm over his eyes. He sighs dramatically when he hears us enter. Quatre laughs and moves across the room to perch on the side of the bed, allowing himself to be pulled back into an embrace.

I hover in the doorway watching as their lips slowly come together in a gentle kiss. I'm used to their open displays of affection and it's never made me uncomfortable before, but tonight my insides twist and I feel awkward and alone.

I wonder what it would be like to do that with Duo, not so much the kissing, although just thinking about that makes me burn with need, but what it would be like to share that simple gesture of love, companionship, possession with him. I'm not a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but I think I could manage that… I think I'd do anything to be able to have that.

Trowa and Quatre break apart and Quatre is slightly pink. I cast them a look and the blush deepens. My moment of awkwardness has passed but the desire to share such an intimate relationship with Duo remains. I realise my mind has drifted again and Quatre and Trowa are watching me curiously. I resolve not to think about Duo for the rest of the night. But even as I tell myself this, I know I have about as much chance of succeeding in this as a snowflake has of surviving in Hell.

The others settle into their respective rooms, unpacking and bickering affectionately as couples in love are want to do. I stand on Quatre and Trowa's balcony slightly removed, gazing out across the streets of Chicago as the day slowly draws to a close, the sun sinking low in the sky.

I'm just starting to admit to myself that I'm chilled to the bone when Wufei finally announces that he's done. It seems to have been decided in my absence that we'll go back to my place to see in the New Year. Quatre informs that it'll be more comfortable that way. Personally, I think he just wants to make sure that I'm looking after myself. I roll my eyes at him but insides I'm rather pleased that he cares so much.

The new doorman, Earl's replacement, waves us in with a crooked, twinkling smile. I hurry the others across the lobby before he can ask about Duo.

Cat totters out of my bedroom to greet us and I stoop down to stroke him gently. He winds his way through my legs and then through the others', searching; he's looking for Duo.

Quatre scoops him up as he passes, cuddling him up in his arms. "A cat, Heero?" he asks, surprised. "I didn't think you liked animals?" He tickles Cat beneath his grey, whiskered chin and Cat purrs in approval.

"I don't, really," I mumble, ushering the others in and closing the front door.

Quatre raises one eyebrow but doesn't ask the obvious. "Where did you find him?" Trowa asks instead.

"He found me," I respond, a partial-truth. "His name is Cat," I tell them before anyone can ask.

Sally giggles and Wufei snickers. Trowa looks serene but the corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly. "Cat? Oh, Heero, that's so like you," Quatre laughs. He sets Cat down again and slowly, my guests tour the apartment, settling down for the night, making themselves comfortable. Their presence makes the flat feel alive, full of warmth and vitality but there is still something missing and I know that it's because Duo isn't here. See? Snow flakes chance in Hell… the truth is, no matter what I do, Duo is always lingering in my thoughts.

The evening unfolds before us. Minutes and then hours drifting leisurely by as we sit in my living room talking and laughing and drinking red wine. After several glasses, it almost feels like I'd never left New York at all. We fit together, the five of us, just like we always did.

They tell me all about their lives, about everything that I've missed… Quatre's sister, Mayada, is in the process of divorcing her husband and has descended on Quatre and Trowa, seamlessly slotting herself into their lives and their house, Trowa's new boss is still painful but he's tolerating it stoically (according to Quatre), Wufei and Sally are looking for a new appartment as the landlord (with whom I had many dealings, one involving fists) is being an "arrogant arsehole" in Wufei's words… I soak up all these details, filing them away in my mind, glad to be part of the circle again.

But I must confess, really I'm only half participating in the conversation. Unconsciously, I know I'm listening out for the door, waiting to hear the sound of the key in the lock; waiting for Duo to come home. Deep down, I know that he won't. I'm not even sure if he'll come at all while the others here, but I still can't help holding on to some semblance of hope… it's New Years Eve and although I'm surrounded by people that I love, I feel alone because the one person I want to see the New Year in with is missing.

Midnight approaches and Quatre flicks on the TV to watch the countdown and the fireworks broadcast live across the country from New York. Normally, we'd be there, standing the crowd, just another one of the expectant faces looking up at the night sky, or watching from the towering roof of the Winner Enterprises building, champagne in hand, the glowing city stretched out before us.

But tonight, we cuddle together around the TV, swapping memories, sharing resolutions and dreams. Trowa is stretched along the sofa closest to me, Quatre sitting in the V made by his open legs, and it strikes me, as it often does, that they are perfect together. Sally and Wufei occupy a similar position on the other couch, curled up in a tangle of limbs, Sally's head tucked under Wufei's chin. Whenever she shifts restlessly or laughs vigorously, he ends up getting a mouthful of hair, but he bears it with good humour, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her closer.

Sitting on the rug, I look up at four happy, smiling faces, two happy, smiling couples and suddenly I feel overwhelmingly lonely. Surrounded by people, I am alone and the adage of the fifth wheel has never been more apt.

The countdown begins, and our voices mingle with the excited cries of the crowd on the TV… 3-2-1… the fireworks erupt in a blaze of light and the sound of New York celebrating fuses with the sound outside of Chicago rejoicing.

In my little apartment, black and white with just a touch of colour from the Christmas tree, two happy, smiling couples embrace, lips finding each other, kisses of passion and love.

And I'm all alone… it's so glaringly obvious. I have to get out. I rise abruptly, opening the French doors and moving out onto my beloved balcony. Caught in their kisses, the others don't notice my disappearance.

The air is cold and wet but it's not snowing yet. In the distance I can hear the sounds of music and merriment. Car horns blare, voices call "Happy New Year" to friends and strangers alike and all around the strains of 'Auld Lang Syne' can be heard, drifting across the city on the wind.

I search the darkness for Duo, knowing that I won't find him. Suddenly everything feels so very hopeless. I'm not a natural pessimist, just a realist, and right now, reality seems to be hitting me straight in the face. In just over two months I will have to leave and perhaps I won't ever find Duo in the darkness again.

For the first time in years, I find myself close to tears. I don't cry; I have far too much self-control for that, but the heavens open and the snows starts to fall again, snowflakes kissing my cheeks as though the sky is crying for me.

A tiny meow interrupts my misery and I turn to see Cat padding towards me, his fur ruffled in the wind. I gather him in my arms, holding him close, pressing my cold nose against his warm fur. His rhythmic purring rumbles in my chest. I close my eyes tight, leaning against the balcony rail and clutching Cat to me, pretending he's Duo.

I only open them again when I realise I'm not alone. I don't have to look to my right to know it's Quatre. "Are you alright?" he asks. I can feel his gaze on me, probing, searching.

I don't bother lying to him; he knows me too well. Instead I say nothing, but when his arm snakes up over my shoulder, I let him pull me down towards him, soaking up his warmth. We stay like that for several minutes. In the background, the voices of Wufei and Sally and Trowa rumble gently, carried through the open doorway to where we stand.

Without warning, the door bangs shut in the wind; the voices are lost and it's just me and Quatre alone together in the darkness. And as if that was the cue, suddenly the dam breaks and in a low, desperate voice I tell him what I couldn't at the hotel. I couldn't hold back if I wanted to; I tell him everything… everything except for one fundamental part, something I'm not ready to discuss yet… and three little words that I'm not ready to admit to myself let alone to Quatre.

He listens in silence, absorbing everything I say in that calm, steady way of his, waiting patiently for me to finish pouring my heart out. He doesn't say anything when I'm done; he just pulls me closer, resting his head on my shoulder. His accepting silence is welcome but deep down inside me I wish he'd tell me that it's going to be OK; that everything will work out.

Eventually, Cat mews again from my arms and I suddenly realise how cold I am. Beside me, Quatre's lips have gone blue. He smiles up at me and I instantly feel guilty.

"Thanks," I tell him.

"That's what friends are for, Heero," he says with a smile. I move away to open the doors again when Quatre catches my arm. He stares intensely at me, that look of his that always makes me feel like he's reading my mind, my thoughts, my emotions. Pale face framed by damp blonde hair and by the bright lights of the Chicago skyline, he seems omniscient. "It'll be OK," he tells me. And because it's Quatre, reliable, loving, honest Quatre, I believe him.

They end up staying the night, all of them. Wufei and Sally quickly lay claim to my bedroom, crawling into bed before anyone can stop them. The rest of us curl up in the living room, Trowa and Quatre, a tangle of limbs on one couch, and me wrapped in a blanket on the other, Cat tucked neatly under my chin. Sleep finds us all quickly and we sleep the sleep of the untroubled.

In fact, our thoughts remain largely untroubled for the whole of the following day as well.

I wake early and listening to the soothing sounds of the others sleeping. Trowa is the next to surface and for the first time in months we salute the sun together, our bodies moving with perfect synchronicity through the various poses. Later, in the kitchen Wufei and Sally and I squeeze around each other, making lunch, brewing steaming mugs of hot coffee. And as the afternoon draws to a close, Quatre and I sit on the balcony once more, sometimes in silence, sometimes in comfortable conversation. It's a day of memories revisited and it leaves me warm and content.

It's nearly midnight by the time coats are fetched and goodbyes are said. Quatre is just securing a scarf around his neck when the door rattles and the familiar sound of the lock turning is heard.

My heart suddenly starts pounding in my chest and all the opportunities I had to tell the others about Duo, last night and today, come rushing back to me; I curse myself for not taking at least one of them.

I can feel Quatre's eyes on me, but I don't meet his gaze, instead I face the door waiting for it to open.

Duo looks up as the door swings open and freezes. The look on his face is reminiscent of a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car and I immediately feel guilty… this is exactly what I had wanted to spare him.

There is a long tense silence in which no one moves. Looking at Duo, I see him as the others must; the clothes, the hair, the make-up, the world-weary stance.

I risk a glance around the room. Quatre is watching Duo closely, searching for something; he looks vaguely worried but I'm not sure why. Sally looks confused, I can tell what she's thinking but her thoughts don't seem to make sense to her just yet. Beside her Wufei is shocked, he remembers now and the old prejudices kick in. Trowa is calm but ever so slightly puzzled; he is the only one who meets my gaze. And finally there is Duo. His eyes call out to me, desperate and embarrassed, and then drop to the floor as though begging it to swallow him up.

It's only when he turns on his heel, twisting away, retreating in shame, that I am spurred into action.

"No, wait!" I leap forwards, catching his hand in mine. Duo's gaze shifts from the floor to our entwined fingers and then up to my face. I am painfully aware of the others watching us. "Stay." My voice is barely above a whisper. Duo's eyes flicker past me to our audience and then back to me. He shakes his head but something in his eyes says yes.

I tug gently on his hand, pulling him towards me. He resists momentarily and then allows me to usher him into the room. The door swings shut behind him. His hand drops from mine, reaching instead for the end of his braid. He twirls it around his fingers, a motion he does when he's nervous.

"Duo Maxwell…" My mother's etiquette lessons are dimly recalled as I struggle my way through this introduction. "Quatre Winner, Trowa Barton, Wufei Chang and Sally Po." I indicated them each in turn and finally Duo's head rises to meet their gazes. His jaw is set determinedly and his eyes are shuttered; not even I can tell what is going on inside his mind. I expect my expression is rather similar. I wait for their reactions, like a man on death row, waiting for the executioner's blow…

Quatre's eyes are the only ones I have the strength to meet. He looks from me to Duo and then back again and his face is uncharacteristically hard to read. But Quatre, gracious as ever, makes the first move, polite and welcoming.

"It's nice to meet you, Duo," he says, stepping forwards and taking Duo's hand in his. The shake is brief but when he retreats Duo looks down at his own hand in wonder and then up at me. Trowa follows suit, a tiny half-smile on his lips, and then Sally.

Wufei hesitates, torn, and when he looks at me, I try to pour every ounce of feeling into my pleading expression. Something seems to click in Wufei's mind and, although I suspect it's for my sake only, he steps up to Duo and nods politely.

Duo returns the nod but remains where he is, lingering just behind me, still unsure, still unbelieving.

"I'll just… um…" he gestures towards the bathroom and then looks up at me.

I nod automatically. "Yeah, of course." Duo passes behind me and then skirts around the others. He doesn't look back as he disappears.

Unconsciously the rest of us wait and it is only when the sound of running water greets our ears that we all turn back to each other.

"Heero?" It's Wufei who speaks, his voice slightly clipped.

I take a deep breath. "I met Duo five years ago when Wufei and Quatre and I came to Chicago," I say for Trowa and Sally's benefit. "We spent the night together…" Sally's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline and I hastily add, "It wasn't like that… I just wanted to help him.

"When I came back here I found him again. I needed to make sure he was OK and we… sort of fell into this rhythm. He comes here to retreat from the only world he knows…" My hands stretch across the space between us, willing them to understand.

There is silence again. "He's a good man," I tell them. "Please, just give him a chance."

Trowa nods immediately. He has been watching me with interest, a smiling playing on his face. Sally looks slightly skeptical but she nods as well and then adds, "I hope you know what you're doing, Heero."

But it's Wufei I'm most worried about. When he finally looks up, he seems to have reached a decision. "If you believe in him, then there must be some honour in him. I am willing to trust your judgment," he says evenly. I know how much it must have cost him to say that and I want to hug him for his trust in me. I don't, of course, but I think he understands my sentiments.

Finally, Quatre speaks. "I think we should go," he says. "But hopefully we will get a chance to meet this Duo again and get to know him better."

As they move to leave, I try to find the words to thank them all. But my limited vocabulary fails me and I can't seem to say what I'm feeling. Quatre squeezes my hand, though, and his words on the balcony come back to me and I believe again that it's all going to be OK.

Trowa, Wufei and Sally move out into the corridor and Quatre is just about to follow them when he draws back. He shuts the door and turns back to me. He looks hesitant; like there is something he is burning to know but is not sure if he should ask. Finally his desire for confirmation wins out.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" he says, direct and to the point revealing the one thing I failed to tell him last night on the balcony. He sounds vaguely disappointed in my omission. I don't have the strength to lie, to him or to myself, and nod dumbly, finally admitting it for the first time.

Quatre stares at me intently but doesn't comment and then he smiles. "Goodnight, Heero. I'll see you tomorrow," is all he says and then he hugs me in one of those sudden, impetuous, enthusiastic hugs of his.

And then he is gone and the door is banging shut and I'm alone in the living room, with the sound of the shower drumming in the background.

I slowly sink down onto the nearest couch. _I'm in love with him_… I still can't say it out loud but that doesn't make it any less true. I wonder if I'll ever be able to admit it aloud. I wonder if Duo will ever know…

* * *

**Author's Notes: Ah, getting heavy now… ish. Whatever. My brain has stopped working, so I think I'll toddle off and watch some mindless TV – my mental state has already descended to the level of 'mushy', so a bit of mind-numbing TV can't do too much more damage.  
If you would like me to drag myself away from 'The X Factor' or something equally ridiculous, please review and I may be enticed away from my chocolate bilby to write the next chapter.  
****Thanks toeveryone who has reviewedso far – you guys seriously rock and are the only things keeping my head above the treacherous waters of University life. Cheers!**


	11. Part Two: Chapter Eight

Title: A Reason For Me  
Author: Prynesque  
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst  
Pairing: 1x2  
Rated: R  
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.  
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just so long as I get to hear from you.  
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).  
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

**Author's Notes: My GOD, how long has it been since I updated? It's ridiculous! I'm _so_ sorry, folks bad Pryn, bad Pryn Please feel free to be nasty. I can take it. There are so many excuses I could make, but I'm sure you're not interested. Let's just blame Real Life and be done with it.**

**This chapter, well, I'm not happy with it… but right now, I feel like I'll scream and then spontaneously combust if I ever see it again. If it feels a bit choppy, it's because it was written over a really long period of time, with scandalously long gaps in between. I promise I'll try and make up for any average-ness in the next chapter. The first part is a bit black (it was written after a very close family friend passed away) but it picks up at the end.**

**So yeah, read it and you know the deal, review and all that. Seriously, think about it because I could really use the motivation right now.**

* * *

Part Two – Chapter Eight:

Duo

I didn't mean to come here, I swear I didn't, but some times my feet just have other plans. I never used to be like this, but now… now it happens all the time; late at night, cold and wet and hungry and lonely, I instruct my body to take me home and it brings me here to Heero without a second thought. It's only when I'm standing on the street outside the building that I realise where I am and by then it's too late… I have to go in…

Still, I really thought I could manage four days on my own. Fuck, I'm weaker than I thought. I lived for years without needing Heero, without needing anyone, but now I can barely last an hour without thinking about him… can't even manage a few days without needing to see him.

I'm like an addict suffering withdrawal. It's funny… only it's not. When I was first on the streets I swore that drugs would never be my thing; I would never be one those twitching wrecks you see in dark corners, craving a fix, completely and utterly dependant and lost.

But I am lost, I know it and sure it's not crack or anything like that, but it's just as potent, more so even. I depend on Heero to keep me warm, to keep me sane, to keep me alive…

I swore I'd never rely on anything but myself, that I'd always be the one in control… and yet the compulsion still takes me over and I come here craving my fix. I wonder how I'll ever be able to survive if it's taken away from me.

I must sound like a raving lunatic. God knows, I probably am. I'm must be more depressed than I thought… nights like these do that to you; make you think that there is nothing but blackness in this world. Even here, standing in Heero's pristine, shining white bathroom, there is still blackness… I think it might be me.

I force my eyes to meet my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I can't help but wince. My hair is damp and messy from the wind and snow and my make-up is smudged. My skin is deathly pale, a sharp contrast to the dark lines of my fishnet stockings crisscrossing up and down my legs.

I look thoroughly shagged and not in the good way… no, I look wretched and tired and used… I should never have come; I should have had the self-control to stay away.

I laugh a bitter laugh that sounds most unlike me. I try to dredge up a smile but it turns into a grimace, teeth bared, scary and miserable. I want to fling that bathroom door open and run into Heero's arms and let him chase away the darkness. I don't care about all that dependency shit now, I just want to be with him.

But I can't… they're probably still out there… Heero's friends. I strain my ears, trying to hear what they're saying. But there is silence in the other room. Maybe they've all left…

I wonder what they think of me. That I'm trash, probably; everything about me screams it, like a giant fucking neon sign. Or maybe I'm worse than trash… maybe they think I'm nothing, nothing at all…

Sure, they shook my hand and smiled at me and did all that polite society shit, and for a moment I believed it… but it had to be fake. People like that don't accept people like me. I'm sure behind their smiles and their manners they were thinking what all normal people think when they see me. And I wouldn't blame them one bit.

You'd think I wouldn't give a shit what they think of me. Hell, I've been called pretty much everything under the sun, no skin off my nose, I know what I am. But I do, I do care. I don't want them to think I'm nothing because if they think that, then maybe they're right. And I'm scared. Not for myself, but for Heero. What must they think of him for… I don't know, consorting with a… with someone like me. He doesn't deserve to be tarred black and dirty with the same brush as I am.

I force my gaze upwards once more. The Duo in the mirror stares back at me. I wonder if that's really me. The mirror is mocking me, laughing at me, taunting me; I want to smash the blasted thing, if only so I don't have to stare at that pitiful image any more.

I tear at my clothes, ripping them off me as though they are on fire. Flimsy layers of black litter the white tiles and I huddle naked in the corner, staring at them.

Suddenly it's all very clear. Before, when I was with Heero… I felt almost normal, I could almost forget that I wasn't… it was just the two of us and when we were together I could be the person that always I wanted to be, that I thought still existed somewhere deep inside.

But now… now that's all changed. I've seen the others – Quatre, Wufei, Trowa, Sally – those are the people that Heero deserves to be with; people that aren't black and rotten on the inside.

Walking out of this apartment and never coming back seems like the only logical thing to do. Heero would be better off without me, I'm sure. Only I'm selfish… deep down, I am. I don't think I can go; I have to stay, be near him for just a little bit longer.

God, I'm so fucked up. I feel like I'm being suffocated by my own black thoughts. I wish I hadn't come here tonight. I wish Heero's friends had never come at all. I wish it was just the two of us again. I wish a lot of things. Do wishes ever come true?

I bundle myself into the shower and sit on the cold tiled floor. The water drenches me, beating down on my shoulders and back, punishingly hard. I'm not sure if I'm trying to cleanse myself or drown myself.

For what seems like forever, I sit there, unmoving beneath the steaming torrent. I watch the water gurgle down the drain and I can almost feel my self-pity being washed away with it. The blackness ebbs away like so much dirt and make-up, and I feel more like myself. The hot water breathes life back into me; I can feel the blood pumping beneath my skin, colour and warmth return to me and I'm alive and safe… the wonders of a nice, long, hot shower. I wish everything was this easy.

Eventually, I haul myself to my feet, wobbling unsteadily on stiff legs. I wash my hair slowly, weaving my hands through the long, wet strands; soapy suds trickle down my body in long, white foamy streams before swirling in the drain beneath my feet. The water is beginning to cool by the time I finish and I let it rain down on my face, icy cold like the weather outside.

When I finally shut off the water, I'm shivering. But it's not the bad kind… the kind that overcomes you after you've been standing in the snow for five hours; that comes after you lose feeling in all your limbs. It's better than that because I know that I'm just two clicks away from a soft, plush towel, from the dry warmth of Heero's clothes and the comfort of his bed.

I reach for the towel, folding it around my body. Almost instantly, the shivers start to abate. I meet my reflection's gaze once more; it's a relief to see that the man staring back at me is no longer a ghost, a shadow.

With the rushing roar of the shower gone, the silence is all the more evident. I pause and then shuffle closer to the door, pressing my ear against it. There is still no noise in the other room; I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Staring down at my neglected rags, I shiver violently once more in the cool air and pull the towel tighter around my body, snuggling into the plush warmth. If I were a stronger man, I'd put those clothes back on and I'd walk out of Heero's life forever, but I'm not and so I stumble into Heero's bedroom and then into his clothes. Weak, I know… I can't even run away anymore.

Heero's clothes are still too big for me – I suspect they always will be – but I think I have put on a little weight. I stare at myself critically in Heero's mirror. Yes, I've fleshed out a little, there are no more painfully sharp corners and no sunken hollows. I look half-way human, though maybe it's just the threads.

I feel safe when I'm wearing these clothes. When I close my eyes, I swear they still smell like Heero… it's almost like I'm being permanently hugged by him.

I think Heero's friends have gone… they must have; there's still no sound from the next room. But I don't quite have the courage yet to check. I sit on the edge of his bed and braid my hair, long wet strands winding over each other as I try to work up the guts to leave this room.

It takes me several moments to actually open the bedroom door and face whatever is on the other side; my hand lingers on the door handle in indecision, for what feels like hours. But I finally do it, and it's thankfully anticlimactic.

The living room is empty, save for Heero, who is sitting on the couch, staring into the fire; the glow from the fake flames bathes his face in orange. His hands are folded in his lap, long fingers overlapping seamlessly.

For a moment I just stand in the doorway watching him… I can't bear to break the serenity of the scene. He doesn't look up when I finally enter; in fact, he's so lost in thought that he doesn't even realise I'm there. He looks so still and pensive, like a Roman statue. I wonder what he's thinking, and some where in the back of my mind, a little voice hopes that he's thinking about me.

"They've gone." My voice, croaky and nervous, shatters the quiet hanging in the air. Heero's head jolts up and he stares at me; his eyes bore into mine, a strange, incomprehensible look on his face.

"Yes," he says, gaze still locked with mine. Blue eyes, so very blue… They were the first thing I noticed about him and I still notice them. "I'm sorry that was so awkward. I should have told them before…" he trails off, standing up, hesitantly. He seems almost… nervous?

"Nah, it was my fault," I say. "I shouldn't have just turned up like that." My tone is deliberately light, but inside, I'm crumbling.

"I'm glad you did," he confesses and then flushes. "I mean, I'm glad you came, that you didn't stay away."

"But I embarrassed you," I mumble before I can stop myself. Self-pity wells up again, threatening to engulf me.

"I could never be embarrassed of you." Suddenly he's standing right in front of me and I wonder how he managed to move without my noticing. And he's so very close. His body radiates warms and I soak it up, using every inch of my restraint to stop myself from falling into him.

"I drove them away," I say, indicating the empty room, and my voice cracks slightly. "They must think I'm some kind of… some kind of…" I break off; there are a multitude of words that could complete that sentence.

He catches my hand in his and it's warm and comforting. He squeezes gently, the pad of his thumb drawing little circles on the back of my hand. I squeeze back, glad of the contact. "They were leaving anyway. And whatever black thoughts you've been thinking, don't. They'll be fine, they understand. They're nice people. Give them a chance, you'll see." That firm, tenor voice washes over me and I find myself believing him. Maybe I was wrong, maybe all that polite society, 'nice-to-meet-you' stuff was real.

"Are you sure?" My voice is so soft, _I_ barely catch my words, but Heero does and smiles, lacing his fingers through mine.

"Yes," he whispers back. He's so close. This almost feels like a repeat of Christmas Eve. I feel myself rock forwards onto the balls of my feet ever so slightly, leaning in towards him. I'm holding my breath, waiting for him to kiss me.

He opens his mouth, on the verge of saying something... but then he doesn't. Suddenly his fingers untwine from mine and he moves away, clearing his throat. "It's late; we should go to bed," is all he says. A miserable churning feeling swirls in my stomach… bitter disappointment.

Hours later, lying on my back in his bed, I stare up at the dark ceiling above. I can feel him next to me. We're not even touching or anything… but I can feel him there. Would I have let him kiss me if he'd tried? Probably. Do I wish he had tried? Definitely.

I roll over and stare at him; I can just see his outline through the dim gloom, chest rising and falling, deep and even. I shuffle closer across the mattress, stopping just mere inches from him. There are no lines on his face when he's asleep; when he's awake, even if he's relaxed, there is still this stiffness to him, like he's continually checking himself. But tonight he is… serene. He looks much younger too, innocent even. I wonder if I look like that when I'm asleep. Probably not… I've seen too much blackness, _been_ too much blackness to ever be innocent again.

A lump forms in my throat and I shuffle closer still, resting my cheek against his solid shoulder. An arm snakes around me, pulling me nearer so I settle comfortably against his side. Behind me, a soft meow sounds and then four paws take a flying leap, landing with a slight thump on the mattress. Cat curls into the small of my back; I can feel his rhythmic purring against my spine.

I'm surrounded by warmth and suddenly the black depression that engulfed me earlier in the bathroom feels a million miles away. Being here with Heero has the unique ability to make the rest of the world fade in obscurity.

I'm overwhelmingly glad that I didn't run away. I don't know what'll happen tomorrow or the next day… whether I'll have the strength to face his friends again. But in this moment, none of that matters… it's just him and me and Cat. I smile into his shoulder and then sleep claims me.

* * *

Heero's in the shower when I wake; the dull roar of rushing water greets my sleep-addled brain. The blurry red numbers of the bedside clock inform me that it's a quarter to seven. I stretch languidly, curling my toes and arching my back off the bed. I roll over onto Heero's side of the bed; it's still warm and his scent lingers. I bury my face in his pillow. Behind me, Cat stretches as well, pushing soft paws into my back. My eyes flicker closed again.

When I open them for a second time, the shower has stopped running. I blink at the clock, blearily. It's nearly seven. I yawn, rolling onto my side. A moment later the bathroom door opens and a thick block of light creeps across the room to where I'm lying. I lift my eyelids enough to peer sleepily in the light's direction.

Suddenly Heero is standing there, towel around his waist, still dripping water; cool, clear rivulets trickle down his chest, following the hard curve of muscle. All of a sudden my mouth is very dry and I'm suddenly very, very awake.

_The man is a walking wet dream_… Hilde once said that to me about a John she'd had the luck to nab. I just murmured a vague agreement, not really understanding what she meant. But now I get it… now it's blindingly clear. A walking wet dream… and then some.

I feign unconsciousness, secretly watching him from beneath barely open eyelids. The bathroom door swings shut again, plunging the room back into semi-gloom. But I can still make out Heero as he moves quietly about the room, gliding through the shadows. All that pale brown skin and sleek muscle… I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from panting.

I'm embarrassed to realise that I'm actually getting hard… how pathetically voyeuristic is that? But I can't bring myself to tear my eyes away, it's just so… God, I don't even know if there is a word for this… _he's_ just so incredible.

And he loses the towel and I'm allowed a brief glimpse of the curves of his arse as he bends over to get dressed. I didn't think a man's body could be like that. I'm fairly sure my moan is audible. He turns to stare at me, zipping up his fly. I mumble something incomprehensible, rolling back over onto my stomach in my pretend sleep. My erection is pressed against the mattress, uncomfortably constrained but I don't have the guts to move again until I hear the bedroom door open and then close.

I flop over onto my back, eyes closed, trying to savour the mental image of naked Heero. Even just the memory of it is enough to send tingles through my body and my hand to my arousal. I make a dive for the bathroom and the moment the water is running I'm stroking myself with a fierce passion that I didn't even know I was capable of.

I don't touch myself very often – horny perverts paw at me often enough that I've rather come to associate the whole thing with something not very pleasant. But the water pours down over me, clean and fresh, and in my mind the hand moving over me is Heero's and it's his name that I gasp, strangled, as I reach my peak.

I feel vaguely ashamed when I'm done. I bet Heero never does this. He probably has far too much restraint. In the bathroom mirror, my reflection blushes, simultaneously satisfied and guilty.

I blush again when I finally emerge from the bathroom. Heero is in the kitchen, bent over the toaster, waiting impatiently for it to pop. The crisp, clean lines of his suit seem to wink at me as though daring me to remember what lies beneath. He looks up when he hears my approach, smiling at me, reflected in the smooth, shiny silver of the toaster; I find myself unable to do anything but smile back. Mental pictures assault me again and I try to reign in my hormones.

"You look very smart today," I say, wincing at my lameness, but simultaneously congratulating myself for managing not to say that I also thinking he looks much better minus the threads.

"Thanks," he says wryly, catching his toast on a plate as it comes shooting out of the toaster. "I have a meeting with a client. Relena says I should make an effort to look smart to make up for my lack of social skills."

He laughs but I burn with jealousy. Relena… I'd forgotten about her. I wonder if they have lunch together, if they chat happily about life and the universe over their fancy coffees. Well, OK, they probably don't actually chat… Heero's not really one for small talk. But still…

I roll my eyes at myself mentally; I'm getting possessive and Heero and I aren't even in a relationship. He seems to notice my strained silence because he casts me a worried look as he passes me the Fruit Loops. I flash him an automatic grin and start shoveling multicoloured cereal into my mouth to distract myself from that this Relena-woman gets kidnapped by terrorists. Heero just shakes his head and butters his toast.

I'm halfway through my third bowl when Heero has to leave. I follow him to the door, feeling like the wife in a 50s family comedy. He smiles at me and I shiver unexpectedly. Damn, he's good.

"Stay as long as you like," he says, searching my eyes. He turns away, briefcase in hand, and then turns back. "Will you… come back tonight?" It's an unexpected question. We never discuss when or if I'll stay with him. It's just one of those topics that we both avoid. I wonder if he realizes he's broken this unwritten rule.

I know I shouldn't but those eyes… they're almost pleading. "I'll try," I croak, berating myself for my weakness. Last night's worries about dependency come back to me but then he smiles – one of those brilliant smiles that he only displays every so often – and suddenly dependency is the least of my worries, and coming back, regardless of whomever else might be here, is the only thing I can think of.

He leaves and I spent a good five minutes staring at the door, trying to figure out when and where I misplaced my balls. Still unenlightened I trudge back to the kitchen and finish my soggy Fruit Loops.

* * *

The room is bathed in the soft glow emanating from the bedside lamp. The carpet beneath my feet is a thick woollen weave, warm but slightly coarse. Heat is pouring in from the air-conditioning vents, toasty warm, while outside it's snowing again. The steady dusting of snow rains down on the other side of the window, collecting in a soft pale mound on the window ledge; crisp icy shards cling to the window, framing the glass in white.

It's a beautifully romantic settling, the sort of scene that inspires alternatively wicked and loving thoughts. Or it would be if the man reclining on the bed was Heero.

But it's not. I close my eyes briefly, pretending that I'm home… I listen for the low rumble of Heero's voice or the soft cry of Cat's mews. But there is nothing but harsh breathing and the dull roar of the heating system.

I open my eyes again and he's still there. Early-50s, I'd say, with slightly graying hair, pale hazel eyes and an arrogantly rakish smirk. As Johns go, he's been a fairly decent one.

The past few nights it's been hard and rough… pushed up against a cold brick wall, cramped and claustrophobic in the back of a beat-up Volvo, on my knees in the snow. But not tonight. He's not like that. He likes things slow and gentle, like a tentative, tempting dance. He wants to seduce me, dazzle me and I let him. But in the end, it's still the same as it is with every other man… there is still the innocuous pile of cash winking in the corner of my eyesight, and there is still that lingering sense of shame. And when it's all over, his false romance is stripped away and all I'm left with is his rough breathing and sleepily sated smile… and the desperate wish that I were at home with Heero.

"You're very beautiful, mon petit," he purrs from the bed. That voice ripples down my spine. He thinks it's sexy and alluring and I'm sure that in a dark, smoky bar after a few drinks, to most people it would be… but I'm not most people and to me, it's just too smooth.

Still, I blush at his words, although he's not the first man to tell me that. I shrug his words off, turning away as I continue dressing. I can feel his gaze on me, mentally removing every item of clothing as I put it on.

"And all that stunning hair… It reminds me of my daughter… she used to wear hers in a braid like that. Are you sure you won't let me touch it?"

OK, he just successfully crossed the line between smooth and creepy. I try not to picture his daughter. Do I look like her? Have I just been participating in some sick incestuous, pedophilic fantasy? Oh God, I hope not.

"Nobody touches my hair," I repeat my standard line for him. It's only as I'm pulling on my jacket that I realise that that's not strictly the truth… a lie even. Heero touched my hair… that night after the break-in, just that once. But that was the first time in probably ten years that I'd let anyone lay their hands on my hair. Figures that it would be Heero.

"Hmm, pity…" he says from the other side of the room. I can still feel his eyes on me, raking across my body, not hungry and greedy like his earlier looks were, just leisurely and satiated.

"How much would it cost for you to stay the night with me?" he asks and suddenly he's right behind me, his breath ghosting across the back of my neck. It's unsettling that I didn't even register his movement and I'm caught off guard by his closeness.

I try not to look at him, to not see all that expanse of still naked flesh. "Too much," I whisper, eying the door.

"I don't mind," his voice is equally hushed and he brushes pale fingers down my arm as he speaks.

"What about your daughter?" I ask, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I fancy his eyes are hollow… not endlessly deep like Heero's.

He laughs. "She's all grown up now. Gone off to college," he tells me. "Come on, stay with me tonight." He moves away from me, reaching for his wallet. Within a moment, the pile of cash on the bureau has doubled. "I'll make it worth your while." I eye the money, feeling that instinctive pull… sitting there, innocently, is more than I would probably make in two nights. "I'm not looking for another round, I just want someone to share that big, empty bed with," he implores me, raising one eyebrow in what he probably assumes is a devilishly charming enticement.

I dither. In my mind, Heero's voice echoes… _will you… come back tonight?_ And I want nothing more than to go there and curl into bed behind him and pretend that nothing else exists.

But then there's the money. It smirks at me, tempting me… its seductive call echoes in my mind. I do the calculations in my head. If I take his offer, his money, I think I could afford to have tomorrow night off altogether. And there is my decision made for me right there. A few hours of near-sleep next to this man in return for a whole evening spent with Heero.

"Alright, I'll stay," I say aloud, silently offering an apology to Heero for my absence.

My John smiles sleepily at me, moving back to the bed and reclining decadently. He pats the mattress beside him. The look he gives me tells me that he knew I'd cave. I sigh and quietly undress again.

It's nearly 8am by the time I get out, cash in hand; I don't take his watch or the rest of his money. Normally I would, it's just too tempting, too obtainable. Maybe I'm trying to make up for leaving Heero alone last night… I don't know.

He's still in the shower when I make my escape; his off-key humming from the bathroom follows me out of the room, lingering in my ears like his touch lingers on my skin. I shut the door as quietly as I can and for a moment I allow the blessed silence of the corridor to seep into me.

Smokey and Joe are waiting for me on the footpath. They look cold and grouchy… not a good combination. Joe is sullenly quiet, arms folded against the cold and dark eyebrows frowning at me. But Smokey seems to be spoiling for a fight. His eyes flit dangerously up and down the street; that wild stare challenges every passerby, daring one of them to take him on. They hurry away, eyes downcast, fixed on their polished leather shoes or the cracked concrete beneath them.

Smokey stubs his cigarette out on the bonnet of Joe's truck. "You been a while," he growls. "He pay up alright?" There is hope in his voice, practically begging me to give him an excuse to go up there and ruffle a few feathers.

For a moment I'm tempted to say no… not really out of spite towards my John but more out of spite towards my general situation in life. I don't suppose that's really a good enough reason for having the shit beaten out of someone. I wonder what my John would do, faced with 90 kilos of wiry strength and murderous inclination. I feel guilty at the thought. I wonder what his daughter would do if he was found dead in a hotel room. I try not to wonder what she would think if she knew what he'd been doing in that room just hours early.

"Yeah, it was fine," I mumble belatedly to Smokey. The disappointment in those dull black eyes is unmistakable.

I ignore it and reach into my pocket for Roly's share of the cash. Joe plucks it from my fingers with a lazy grin. I feel a tinge of resentment. I earned that money and it'll go straight into the wallet of a fat man who sits behind a desk all day and pretends to run a legitimate business. But really, I'd probably be willing to pay him twice that rather than work these streets without Smokey and Joe. I just hope Roly never finds that out.

Joe leafs through the notes, fat, stubby fingers peeling back the layers of green. "This all? You were up there half the night!" The tone is accusatory. "You shoulda asked extra for that."

A biting retort lingers on my lips… I know my job and what it's worth, and I don't appreciate people treating me like I'm some wet thirteen year old… but I don't say it; it'd probably go straight over Joe's head anyway. "He'd didn't have that much on him," I lie, the extra cash hot and heavy in my back pocket.

"Then why'd you stay?" Joe asks as he wrenches the truck door open. It groans a low, pained metallic groan.

"Central heating and a comfy bed," I smirk. Joe glares at me and then at the cold, hard cracked leather seats of the truck where he spent the night. "And better company," I add, just for the Hell of it.

"Yeah, funny Duo," Joe mutters to the steering wheel. Thick fingers curl around it, knuckles white.

"Ah, shut it, both of you," Smokey snarls. "It's freezing; let's get the fuck outta here."

"I'll walk," I say.

Smokey gives me a sharp look. Shit, that was too quick, too eager. "You been walking an awful lot, lately," he says. He raises one pointed eyebrow. "You got a rich sugar daddy, you ain't telling us about?" His question is deceptively light, only just betrayed by the icy hardness in his tone.

"Yeah, I wish," I retort, proud of the conviction in my voice. Joe snickers, a mean sound that says 'Because who'd be interested in you' without a single word. Smokey merely eyes me again; it almost feels like those tiny black orbs are penetrating my very skin. I shuffle uncomfortably on the dirty sidewalk.

Finally he seems satisfied. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he says gruffly, rounding the hood of the car to the passenger door.

I exhale in relief. I try not to think what Smokey would do to Heero if he found out about him. I shouldn't spend so much time with him. It'd be safer all round. Even as I think that, I know it'll never happen.

"Pick you up at 7?" Joe asks, leaning out the window.

I try to look nonchalant. "Nah, don't worry about it. Repeat customer," I say, jerking my thumb back towards the hotel. "I can make my own way back." I'm relieved when they buy my lie. I keep excepting them to see right through me, as though I've got Heero's name tattooed across my chest.

"Fine, later," Joe says, waving at me as he pulls away from the curl. Smokey just grunts and lights another cigarette.

As I watch the car disappear in a cloak of black exhaust fumes, I allow myself a little smile. I pull my jacket tight around myself and hurry away. If I'm lucky, I'll just catch Heero before he goes to work.

Earl the doorman smiles at me as I enter the building at just after half past eight. "Mornin' Duo," he says. "Rough night?" His tone is sympathetic but not quite pitying. I don't snap at him because he really is making an effort; usually he just ignores what I am and what I've just been doing.

"Not too bad," I tell him as I head towards the lift.

It dings just as I reach it and the doors glide effortlessly open in one smooth mechanical motion. An elderly lady comes out. Her face is faintly familiar and I struggle to place it. Then it comes to me. She's Heero's neighbour… Mrs. Something-or-other. She's regarding me in the same manor. She thinks she knows me but the clothes and the memory just aren't adding up.

"You're Duo, aren't you?" she asks, stepping forwards out of the elevator. "Heero's friend." I nod and her eyes light up. "Ah, yes, I remember. You must come and have tea with me. Heero never has tea with me any more. You bring him along some time." Again I nod, wondering how she can just ignore what I obviously am. Maybe it's an old lady, selective blindness thing… maybe she's just so lonely that she'll accept any kind of company, even mine.

"Good, good," she murmurs. And then she's patting my arm and walking away. I only just catch the lift before it disappears again.

I let myself into Heero's flat. I still feel that gentle glow of giddiness at having my own key. Meh, pathetic or whatever.

Cat comes hurtling out of the kitchen, the little bell on his collar jangling like a dozen sleighs. He does a delighted tour of my legs and then allows me to scoop him up, cuddling him close to my chest. He tolerates the indignity of this with relative humour. His warm, skinny little body starts to thaw my frozen hands.

"Good morning, Duo," says a deep, unfamiliar voice.

I jump what feels like a good foot into the air. In my shock, I drop Cat. He lands on his paws and wobbles ungainly, yowling in protest. He stalks away, clearly miffed at my treatment.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," says the voice.

For a moment I hesitate. Years of instinct scream at me to just high-tail it, but a newer, softer voice pipes up, telling me that this is Heero's place, a sanctuary regardless of strange deep voices.

I turn slightly, gingerly even. And that's when I see him. Trowa. He's seated against the wall by the dining room table; his legs are twisted in a very awkward looking position, half crossed and half twisted. It looks exceedingly uncomfortable and yet, he's got the most serene expression on his face. He stares up at me with his one visible eye, a glowing green colour amid a curtain of chestnut brown.

"Hi," I croak. I can just feel the blush rising in my cheeks, turning my face a horrible shade of pink. "I'm sorry… I didn't know you were here… I just… um…" I trail off, picking awkwardly at my skimpy outfit and feeling like the worst kind of nothing. I swear I can feel the fingerprints of my John on my skin, his mark.

"You just missed Heero. He left for work not fifteen minutes ago," Trowa tells me from his twisted seat. God, he sounds so articulate after my pathetic mumblings.

"Right… I'll just… um… go then." And I turn to leave but suddenly Trowa is rising, more graceful than anything I've ever seen. He's tall, I realise, as he approaches… He reminds me of a swan gliding across the surface of a smooth, glassy lake. He has that kind of elegance that you just have to wonder at… it's almost unearthly.

"No, please stay. I'm sure Heero would want you to. I promise I won't get in your way." He smiles a funny little half smile, that one green eye twinkling.

I blush again. "Are the others… um, here?" I ask, staring down at Cat who is weaving through my legs; he's either forgiven me for dropping him or merely forgotten about it.

"Just Quatre… though he is still in bed. I fear we had rather too much red wine last night. Heero was kind enough to let us stay. I hope the couch wasn't too uncomfortable for him."

I feel a disappointed twist in my stomach. It takes me a moment to identify the cause… If Heero gave his bed to Trowa and Quatre, then he must have suspected all along that I wouldn't come. Does he have that little faith in me?

I nod belatedly, aware of those green eyes still on me. "I'll just… have a shower," I mumble to the floor. I wonder if Trowa can see those fingerprints, if he can sense the man I was just with. I have to wash it off, the feeling of him.

"That sounds like a good idea. You look cold," Trowa says. I fancy there's a hint of amusement in his voice and my head snaps up.

"Very diplomatic of you," I mutter.

"It's reassuring to know that Quatre is starting to rub off on me." I'm not sure whether that's supposed to be an innuendo or not. "But I was being perfectly serious. You're shivering. Thus, you must be cold."

I feel like a right dick now. Why is it that I automatically try to find the bad in people? I guess because I'm so used to them finding the bad in me. "Sorry," I mumble to the floor. And then, "I'm an idiot… please ignore me."

He laughs and this time it's clear that he's not mocking me. "I would never ignore someone that Heero cares so much about," he says thoughtfully. He says that with so much confidence. I feel a little glow inside that is possibly my inner child jumping up and down like a lunatic, squealing 'he cares about me!' I try to ignore it before I do something stupid like giggle.

For a moment I think Trowa's going to speak again but then he just smiles again. I smile tentatively back. He sinks back down into his twisted position, folding his legs over each other. My smile develops into a grin and I quietly remove myself to the bathroom.

The first thing I see is my clothes – well, Heero's clothes – neatly folded and sitting on the toilet cistern. That little glow is back as is my faith in Heero. He _was _expecting me, after all… waiting for me. And then of course the guilt sets in. I wonder what he felt when I didn't turn up… if he was very disappointed… _someone that Heero cares so much about_… Trowa's voice rings loud in my head. I feel that same warm glow again but the guilt is still there.

I shower efficiently, aware of Quatre still sleeping in the next room. I try not to remember what I was doing the last time I was in this shower. There is a brief moment when it threatens to happen again but _just_ doesn't. I'm glad, because doing _that_ with Heero's friends just mere metres away… well, it feels like it would be all kinds of wrong.

When I emerge again, feeling warm and distinctly more alive that I did when I arrived, Trowa is still in the Dining Room, resting in Upward Dog. Slowly and sinuously, he pushes back into Downward Dog and then completes his Salute to the Sun.

I'm fairly sure my mouth is hanging open as I watch. I always thought that Heero was the epitome of graceful but Trowa is in a whole other league… if indeed he's even playing the same game. He's fluid like water, elegant like a dancer and yet strangely powerful as well. There is so much barely restrained strength beneath his movements. It's entrancing.

He straightens up and opens his eyes, catching me staring. "Sun Salutation," he explains.

"Yeah, I know. Heero's been teaching me. But he's not as good as you." I blush, feeling oddly unfaithful at saying that.

Trowa just smiles. "I've been practicing Yoga for many years. And I have the added advantage of gymnastics training as well." He cocks his head to the left slightly, revealing the long, lean line of his neck. "Would you like to join me?"

"Oh, I couldn't… I'd look like a hippo next to you."

"You'd be surprised how graceful a hippo can be," Trowa comments, smiling to himself.

I fall into line beside him and slowly we begin our dance. At first, I'm horribly self-conscious, overwhelmingly aware of every mistake I make. But after a few rounds, I relax and I even forget that Trowa is there beside me. The movements just take me over, flowing from one to the next in time with my breath.

Finally I straighten up and that's when I feel the sensation of being watched. I let my eyes flicker open. Trowa is gazing at me, an odd little half smile on his face.

"You have a natural affinity for Yoga," he tells me.

I blush. "Yeah, right."

"No, I mean it. You have good flexibility and an innate sense of the essence of Yoga. I was watching you. The room just fades away when you're doing it, doesn't it? And there is nothing but you and your steady breathing and the dance of the Salute."

I grin because I didn't think it was possible to translate my feelings into such eloquent words. "Yeah," I confirm, though that hardly does it justice.

Trowa smiles. "Then I hope you'll continue with it." He pauses and the pale sunshine trickling in through the window highlights the red in his hair. "What else has Heero shown you?"

I think, trying to remember. Slowly glimpses of memory come back to me… Heero's strong confident stance… the feeling of his hands shifting my body into the right position. "Just a few of the Warrior positions," I mumble.

"Ah, yes… Heero is very fond of standing strength exercises… very good for muscle tone. Would you like me to show you some new moves?"

I remember Hilde once saying that to me, though of course, she had very different moves in mind. I nod. "What was that pretzel thing you were doing before?"

"I was meditating in Lotus position. It can be quite difficult. Heero, for example, finds it very hard to switch off his thought processes. And you need to be very flexible to manage Lotus. But I'll show you, if you like…"

I consider the offer, but I really don't think I'm up to the pretzel just yet. "Maybe something easier to start with?"

He smiles and inclines his head in a gently nod. "How are you at balancing?"

Terrible, it turns out. I wobble something dreadful and my Dancer's pose resembles a stumbling drunk more than anything else.

I can feel myself starting to sweat as I fight my body for control; regardless of what my brain is saying, it seems determined to pitch forwards into a messy heap on the hardwood floor.

"Don't try so hard, Duo," Trowa's smooth voice echoes behind me.

I drop my leg back to the floor and my arms back to my sides. "What?" I ask, frustration just bubbling beneath the surface.

"You're working too hard." I raise an eyebrow at him and he smiles. "Fix your gaze on a spot in the distance. Focus all your energy on that single point… your body will do the rest."

The expression on my face must be one of complete disbelief because Trowa laughs. "Trust me, it does work."

I heave an exaggerated sigh and look for my spot. I finally settle on a pigeon. It's sitting on the balcony rail of the apartment opposite Heero's. Slowly I move into Dancer's pose, gripping my left ankle in my left hand and stretching my right arm out away from me. Imagine you're a bow and arrow, Trowa had told me. I wonder if I look like one. That simple thought is all it takes and suddenly, I'm wobbling dangerously. Trowa's hands find my waist, steadying me. "Focus on your spot," he murmurs.

And so I stare at the pigeon, concentrating all my energy there. I feel completely ridiculous. It's just a pigeon… a rat of the sky, filthy and annoying and ever-present… I wobble again. "Focus," is the whispered command.

I stare at it again. I'm surprised it can't feel the strength of my gaze… I feel like I'm trying to burn a hole right through it. But it's sleeping, its beak tucked beneath one wing, and completely unaware of my attention. The pale winter sunshine highlights the greenish tinge of the feathers and a couple of them are ruffled, quivering slightly; there must be a light breeze blowing outside, I conclude.

And suddenly I realise that I'm doing it. My body has just fallen into Dancer's pose without me even realizing it. "I'm doing it," I exclaim excitedly. Suddenly my concentration crumbles, like a tower of blocks crashing down to the ground. I follow a moment later. Even Trowa's quick reflexes aren't enough to stop me from hitting the floor with a dull thud.

I groan, staring up at him. He gives me a commiserating look. "I _was_ doing it."

He laughs. "That you were. The more you practice, the better you will become."

"Do you mind if I practice some other time… when I've regained feeling in my arse?"

He chuckles, a low deep rumbling sound that makes Cat perk up from his seat on the back of the sofa. "Of course." He regards me for a moment. "Do you like omelette?" he asks abruptly.

"Huh?" is my articulate response.

"Omelettes. Do you like them?"

"Um… yeah, I guess," I reply, wondering where on earth he's going with this.

"Good. I think I'll make omelettes for breakfast." He holds his hand out to me and when I take it, he pulls me effortlessly to my feet.

Cat and I follow him into the kitchen. He bends gracefully at the waist as he rummages through Heero's cupboards and then the fridge. He hands me a carton of eggs. "How are you at beating?" he asks.

"It's not my area of expertise," I answer before I can stop myself. I flush as soon as I realise what I've said. Trowa is silent for a moment. The stark reminder of what I am hangs between us. I want to shove those words back down my throat but I can't. It's too late.

"I'm sure the eggs won't mind," Trowa finally responds, starling me out of my self-induced embarrassment.

I nod dumbly and take the offered carton. As I'm cracking the eggs, one of Trowa's pointed elbows jostles me innocently. When I look up, he offers me a gentle smile. I hug it close to my chest, storing it there with the memories I have of Heero.

Quatre finally surfaces around ten. He doesn't seem surprised to see me. In fact, he merely smiles and greets me with, "Good morning, Duo," as though I'm an old friend.

I relax into his friendly demeanor. He's the sort of person that can put you instantly at ease. It's a nice feeling. Unconditional acceptance maybe… although I'm not entirely sure such a thing really exists.

I watch Quatre and Trowa out of the corner of my eye all morning. I watch the way they interact and the easy, loving relationship that they share. When Trowa bends down to kiss Quatre, that blonde head tilts up automatically to meet him… they can finish each other's sentences like they do in movies and sometimes they seem to communicate without words at all… they are more in-synch with each other than anything I've ever witnessed.

It's fascinating and it takes more than a while to work out why. It's because I've never seen two men together like that. That probably sounds stupid coming from someone like me who has probably seen everything that it is possible for two men do together…. but never this… never just _being_ together, being in love.

Maybe I didn't even think it was possible. I've always rather associated being gay with what I do every night… with the sad, depressed men who come to me, ashamed of what they feel for their own sex… or with the dark secrecy of those who try to hide their golden wedding bands and the guilt they feel when they think of their wives… or the wannabe playboys, like my John from last night, who like to play seduction but just use me the same as everyone else.

But Trowa and Quatre aren't like that. They're… normal, I guess, and yet not because I don't think a relationship like theirs could ever be truly normal; I don't think such a beautiful thing occurs often enough to be normal.

I feel an angry stab of jealously. It comes out of no where and lodges itself in my chest, just below my breast-plate. God, more than anything in this world, I want that with Heero.

I stand on the balcony. The air is cold but pale sun above is shining a wan smile down on me. I've noticed that when he's thinking, that deep, consuming sort of thinking, Heero likes to stand out here, looking out over the city. I can see why. It's peaceful and strangely removed; me up here and everyone else way down there, plodding along through their normal little lives.

I wonder what he's doing right now. Maybe he's having lunch with the Blonde… I picture her perfect smile. My fingers curl around the balcony-rail painfully tight. Suddenly the smooth, cold metal becomes her neck. I jolt my hands away like I've been burnt. I resolve not to think about her at all… such murderous thoughts can't be good for the soul.

A pigeon flashes past me, a blur of green and grey. I wonder if it was the one from earlier. It glides through the cold air, up to the darkening cloudy sky. It's going to snow again, I predict. The sky is heavy with the promise. I feel a warm glow of relief when I remember that I don't have to go out there tonight… that I can just stay here with Heero all night, his warmth seeping into me across the mattress.

"What are you thinking about?" Quatre asks me unexpectedly. He's just emerged from the shower; his blonde hair curls around his ears in damp tendrils.

For a moment I consider brushing him off with a flippant answer; I'm good at those… good at hiding behind my defenses. But there is a frankness in his eyes that I can't seem to resist.

"I guess I was thinking about you and Trowa. I've not seen two guys be together like you're together… like, you know, in love and all." There is a brief silence between us that is only cut by the gentle splashing of Trowa doing the washing-up in the kitchen.

"I didn't think being gay could be like that. Stupid because I'm… and Heero's…" And I stop suddenly because I don't know for sure that Heero is actually gay and he and I certainly don't have a relationship on the level of Quatre and Trowa's.

Quatre chooses to ignore my blunder, though I fancy there is a ghost of a smile on his face. "I didn't believe it either, in the beginning… until I met Trowa," he says with a smile. He comes up to stand beside me, resting pale hands on the metal bar that was just Relena Peacecraft's neck. "But then I realised that heterosexuality doesn't have the monopoly on love and monogamous relationships."

"Just on marriage," I respond, more glib than I had intended.

"Hmmm, yes…" Quatre's murmur is slightly sad. "But I still have hope." There is a pause and then, "As should we all."

Somehow I get the feeling that he's referring to more than gay marriage. I don't know what it is and I'm too afraid to ask. He gives me a funny little smile. "Come on, it's cold out here." He slides his arm through mine and leads me back inside.

Quatre and Trowa leave mid-afternoon. I'm not entirely sure I want them to go. They're nothing like I thought they would be. And I like who I am when they're around… I like feeling like a normal person with normal friends. I don't tell them, of course. That would be way to embarrassing. They're probably just humouring me anyway.

"Heero's having dinner with us tonight. We'd very much like it if you came," Quatre says as he reaches for the doorknob; his hand lands on the smooth, shiny brass, but he turns back to look at me.

I feel a lump in my throat. I don't think I've ever been out for dinner before. It's always been something that was too sophisticated, too adult, and too expensive for me. I try to imagine what it would be like… a nightmare probably. People like me just don't know how to mix with people Quatre.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know what to do," I mumble, embarrassed. I fix my gaze on the floorboards beneath my feet, hoping Quatre will just leave it at that.

"It's not that complicated, really. Once you master the whole knife and fork thing, the rest is easy," he jokes, trying to catch my eye.

I let him; he draws my gaze up from the floor until we're level. "I don't have anything to wear." I'm confident in my second excuse. I can't go out in Heero's old sweats, and my clothes… well, I doubt they'd even let me in the restaurant if I wore those.

"Borrow something from Heero. Despite his relative lack of style, I'm sure you'll be able to find something in that wardrobe of his." Quatre's really pushing for this. I feel the urge to just give in and say yes.

"Why would you want to have dinner with someone like me?" I finally ask, laying all my fears right out on the table for them to pick at.

"Because anyone that is important to Heero, is important to us," is Quatre's simple response. For several moments, we stare at each other, eyes warring.

Finally, it's Trowa who resolves the issue. "The table's booked for seven thirty. We'll see you there, Duo." There is such easy confidence in his voice that I find myself nodding before I can stop myself. And then they're gone and I'm left with a bunch of nerves and a dinner date. And for some reason, I can't stop smiling.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Yeah, so that's it. Sorry if the end was a bit abrupt. The Dinner with Heero and co. was supposed to be in this chapter but then I figured… if I made you wait until I'd managed to get that written… well, you could have been waiting a very long time… that is, an even _longer_ time than you had to wait anyway.**

**OK, shut up Pryn (you know you were thinking that too). I'm going to have a couple of weeks off (in which I will desperately try to stay on top of my uni workload) and then I will come back, hopefully refreshed and renewed, and ready to write the next chapter. But cross your fingers, just in case.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed during my abysmally long hiatus. I swear, just when I was ready to declare this story permanently incomplete, your comments spurred me on and kept this baby alive. So yeah, THANKS!**


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